Two Poems by Eugene Mahon

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Freud 1939

                                        “Talking about the past is like a cat’s trying            
                                         to explain climbing down a ladder”
                                         Robert Lowell  letter 3.15.58

 With half a mouth
In his final years,
           Wholeheartedly,
           Sun and retina
           Aligned with tilted
           Manuscript,
           Lightning and silent
           Thunder of thoughts
           Flashing within,
           Pen on paper
           Correcting,
           Revising,
           Bearing witness
           As jack-boots
           Clacked
           On the cobbles
           And history
           Held words by the throat,
           The voice poured
           Out of the cracked vessel
           Like a prophet’s curse:
           “Death is not inside you
           ‘til you stare it down.
            The dream is only yours
            When you awaken.”
            Eugene Mahon  Sept. 2005  
 

                                     Freud

  Was it his greatest feat
  Perhaps
  To make a science of listening,
  As if he knew a scream
  For what it was,
  A storming of deaf ears,
  A deafness not of others’ making
  But our own,
  The worst indifference
  A self in flight,
  Not from the locked out wind,
  The banished rain,
  But from a wind within,
  The heart startled
  By its own insistence
  Beat after beat after beat?
  Did silence,
  Like a sobbing child
  Bring hidden words to him,
  And did he hear them through the tears,
  And even find a word for silence,
  A word to calm the screaming?
  Was it his greatest feat
  Perhaps
  To call this silence
  By its name,
  To call it out of its own dreaming,
  And lead it home?

   Eugene Mahon  6.03.04