In Vocation of the Muse
poetry by Bonnie McClellan
Illustrations by Matthew Broussard
Invocation of the Reader
This song is written for an audience of one.
for your eyes and your mouth alone;
in hope that you may catch
the cadence of my breath
in rhythm of these words,
as I felt Dante’s breath, weighted
against my lips, chanting out
a novena of tercets, beginning:
Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
mi ritrovai per una selva oscura,
che la diritta via era smarrita.
The straight path also lost to me,
I follow the sound of my voice
whispered across your lips.
Trembling at the gates of hell,
inside the silent center of this caesura
we inhale.
poems © Bonnie M. McClellan
images © Matthew Broussard
ALL OTHER POEMS FROM THE SERIES “In Vocation of the Muse” have been removed from this blog. If you would like to order a bound copy of the book complete with colour illustrations at a cost of 25.00 EURO ($35 USD) + postage and handling please contact me at: bmcclellan.lapoeta@gmail.com
Bonnie McClellan-Broussard 
Beautifal Bonnie — your poem (like all good art) puts me in mind of another poem that I have long adored. And so I share with you here, Margaret Atwood’s poem “Variations on the Word Sleep”
Variations on the Word Sleep
I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head.
and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear
I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as beathing in
I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.
Margaret Atwood
STILL LIKE AN EYE
There’s no reader
Not more than an echo in the wind
All voices in one shot
Heading for the ultimate smoothness
I get around
Like a walk on the beach
Just find reflects
Of my own
Serve and protect
Rebellions and revolutions
Muses love playing with fire
Under the look of the gun
The echo of the wind
tunes to exactly the right ear.
slipping copper flashes:
sun’s slow, head-banging plummet
up through the crucible
of dawn.