The Beauties of Free Verse...

It's good to know that not all 'modern' or 'post-modern' poetry embraces the ever-present agenda. Small shoots of beautiful verse do sprout once in a while in the vast wilds of a decaying language...and this is one of them. Note: if you're a not familiar with the story of Caedmon, read this first.

Caedmon

All other talked as if
talk were a dance.
Clodhopper I, with clumsy feet
would break the gliding ring.
Early I learned to
hunch myself
close by the door:
then when the talk began
I'd wipe my
mouth and wend
unnoticed back to the barn
to be with the warm beasts,
dumb among body sounds
of the simple ones.
I'd see by a twist
of lit rush the motes
of gold moving
from shadow to shadow
slow in the wake
of deep untroubled sighs.
The cows
munched or stirred or were still. I
was at home and lonely,
both in good measure. Until
the sudden angle affrighted me - light effacing
my feeble beam,
a forest of torches, feathers of flame, sparks upflying:
but the cows as before
were calm, and nothing was burning,
nothing but I, as that hand of fire
touched my lips and scorched my tongue
and pulled my voice
into the ring of the dance.

-Denise Levertov
From "Breathing the Water"