Phonaesthetics by Carolyn Martin27 Mar 2018, Posted by Poetry in
I read somewhere
that language experts claim
when sense is pushed aside,
the most ear-pleasing English sounds
slide through cellar door.
Not through the charm
but through the scraped-up entry
to the stale dark space
where my mother scrubbed our clothes
and I escaped from upstairs storms.
Cellar door, celadore, seladore
chant these words out loud
and I’m strolling on Assisi cobblestones
while Cimabue’s frescoes peel.
Or flying to the Vegas strip
where gondoliers row arias
beneath a painted sky. Or settling down
in Vinnie’s Bar with friends and pizza pie.
So much for sense
when sounds annihilate cinder blocks,
concrete floors, dank memories.
Three notes – smooth and pure –
soar like kisses from my fingertips
toward the cobbled sky.
Cellar door. Ché bella, cellar door.
(Previously published in Cross Review.)
About the author:
From Assistant Professor of English to management trainer to retiree, Carolyn Martin has journeyed from New Jersey to Oregon to discover Douglas firs, months of rain, and dry summers. Her poems and book reviews have appeared in publications throughout North America and the UK, and her third poetry collection, Thin Places, was released by Kelsay Books in Summer 2017.
Art: Costumes from the Stratford Warehouse No. 23 by Chris Klein