the frog in my boot by the door: a prose poem
A temporary diversion
Due to a heavy workload editing other writers' books, my regular blogging has been limited. I hope you understand! As I'm assembling a new collection of my poetry, I'll be sharing some unpublished verse periodically, in place of my usual writing advice and criticism. This piece, “The Frog in My Boot by the Door,” is a prose poem that hasn't been previously published and explores the often-unconventional process of writing poetry itself.
The polymorphic nature of creation
Poetry can manifest in countless forms – amphibiously, or otherwise. Think of polymorphs, artiodactyla, pebbles between your toes, stars, stardust, spring chickens, watermelons, autumn mums, wintery dads, a leaf carried by the wind. It’s a constant shifting of shapes and forms, a bodily and psychic phenomenon. This leads to a fundamental question: why attempt poetry at all, given the endless permutations and the inherent difficulty?
The illusion of explanation
Henry Ford famously said, “Explanations are dangerous.” Like last year’s models, they quickly become obsolete and often lead to unnecessary contention. The frog in this poem embodies this sentiment. Despite his noisy and assertive nature, his grandstanding isn't about fame or profound insights, but rather a simple desire to be noticed and acknowledged – to leave a mark, perhaps even create an award or a prestigious workshop.
The poet as liar
The pursuit of recognition can lead to prevarication, a deceptive path. Plato declared, “Poets are liars,” a statement that remains unchallenged. But why this lyrical fuss and heartache? Poets and poetry emerge because the truth is often elusive and cagey. We crack the words themselves, offering Band-Aids and lullabies in place of eternal truths, creating pleasant lies and ambiguous interpretations.
The tangents of poetic thought
Poets often succumb to tangents, captivated by the sound of their own voices. Walker Percy warned scribblers about this tendency, as it can lead to a false sense of discovery. While words may be beautiful and portentous, there's always a chance something will endure and provide the solace we all seek when confronting the inevitability of mortality – the realization that we are, essentially, fleeting figures in the sand.
The frog's arrival and its significance
The poem culminates with the unexpected appearance of a large, white, albino frog in my boot. This seemingly absurd event is presented as a sign, a signal from another dimension. The encounter leaves me chilled, prompting a desire for solace in the works of St. John of the Cross or T.S. Eliot. I'll never understand “froglisch,” but my nephew, who aspires to be an astronaut and finds frogs to be agreeable companions, might appreciate this unusual visitor.
Copyright and contact
© 2015 Margaret Langstaff, All Rights Reserved. For inquiries, please contact [email protected].