No Poet I
(1985)
No poet I, a lucky line
Just flashed and flamed and glowed.
It dazzled me though it was mine,
And then the others flowed.
No poet I, and yet a poem
Lay breathing at my feet,
Just like a baby from the womb,
Into the world complete.
No poet I, I had scant play
In bringing it to birth.
As for the baby, who can say
What this small thing is worth.
[December 5, 1985. Lines written soon after reading
Copyright (2002) by Arnold Cantor.
All rights reserved.
how a poem “makes itself”, in Marguerite Wilkinson’s
book New Voices (1920).]