the forgotten ones

the forgotten ones

 

 

a very rickety desk

the Underwood

sits Over wood

the old keys

savoring the touch

of two-fingered inspiration

 

but the arthritic poet

dementia in his bones

can only gaze through cataracts

at the machine

with which he used to be one

the relationship a consorting

 

of lines, ribbons, carriages

the babies, his poems

many grew up to publish themselves

with a slight nod

to their ancestry

but now they lie on pages

 

almost as old as he

father, sons, daughters

between covers

trying not to get cold

before they are buried

with nary a figment

 

of notoriety.

 

 

erin-cilberto

4/1/25

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Powerful and worthwhile poetry shared Jacob.
(but the arthritic poet
dementia in his bones
can only gaze through cataracts
at the machine
with which he used to be one
the relationship a consorting)
I do know the above lines. I liked the story and the truth in your words. Thank you my friend for sharing the outstanding poetry.
Coyote

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your kind review, Coyote.
j.

[Nima.Hope]

I'm coming to this website after a considerable time away from it. I see many old friends silent, yet I'm glad to read from you, sir.
The modern times, or postmodern times-whatever- demands for the old to be forgotten and then, it rebrands them into products for sale, that explains the huge money in the nostalgia business. Most people never get to worship basic good human deeds these days.
A pleasure to read this, and also Carl's comment on your poem and your chat with him. It's so interesting to me as an Iranian student to see what goes in the minds of retired American teachers.
I wis you well being, happiness and bright days ahead sir.
Nima

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Thank you so much for the visit and comments, Nima.
it is good to see you around again.
Yes, I get the feeling both Carl and his wife were really good teachers.

[redd Brick Keshner]

And it could be such a scourge to switch between technologies…. “Take a dictation Siri, then read it back to me…” 🙏🏻🕊

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I liked it when we had none....Riding bikes was fun...writing papers with a pen...all fun...cursive writing...not keys.
Thank you, Freds,
j.

[redd Brick Keshner]

Oh true that. No googling, just card catalogues, encyclopaedias and reference material 🙏🏻🕊️

[Arundass TP]

Somewhere somewhere I found something. Nicely written poem

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Thank you, Arundass,
j.

[Lorry]

I felt like I was watching Wayne's world reading this Jacob, with all the head nodding I was doing.
The only thing I can be remotely sure of these days is I concur... I think.
I do remember the days where they used to birth themselves but nowadays it feels more like brain surgery to get them out in one piece and relatively healthy.
I spend more time polishing my writing desk, reminiscing of all those births than actually writing anything.
I do detest picking favourite lines but your last is doubleplusgood " with nary a figment of notoriety.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Thank you for your words, Lorry....it's not good for the wood to over polish!

[carl]

reminds me of something I read in a biography of Ray Bradbury detailing his adventure of writing. What you have written paints a clear picture of the long labor of creation and the often regrettable demise of any offspring. Perhaps they will be discovered by a civilization eons from now and interpreted and cherished long after writing has become extinct and all communication has reverted to something similar to Morse code or signal flags - more likely emojis - if so i'm sure all the ancient Egyptian dead will roll over in their sarcophagi. sorry just in a strange mood this AM - as always I enjoy and appreciate your work and also believe you enjoy doing it - I think - I hope -carl

[jacob erin-cilberto]

No, carl, I totally agree with you about the emojis and other current communication...one of my oldest friends has been replying to my emails with just emojis and I was just commenting to myself yesterday about that.
Yes, they would be rolling over...for sure.
thanks for your words, my friend,
j.

[carl]

my wife and I both were teachers for many years - and today our grandchildren are not taught to learn the multiplication tables, write in cursive, and only taught to read by memorizing words, no phonics also history requirements are constantly being reduced and the arts are being replaced by sports. We are being trained to be consumers not thinkers or creators - okay now lend me a hand to get down off this soapbox - carl

[jacob erin-cilberto]

The President of our college has given us a new motto....we are making a transaction when we teach...it is about providing a service to a consumer...geez, I thought we were a college, not a walmart.

[Renata]

Your poem had me thinking of Emily Dickinson and her piles of poems locked away in a chest or something.
So much energy and love spent creating her poetic babies and they were almost forgotten. So lucky to be found and shared with the world. I am not sure she would have appreciated all the fuss, but most of us would be very grateful just to be noticed, let alone have our words revered.

Your metaphor carries itself so well here and the heart of the message just reaches out to all of us that put pen to paper. An impressive poem, Jacob.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Yes, just to be noticed for what we do. Emily had 1775 poems...only published 11 in her lifetime, and those anonymously....
It would have been interesting to talk with her about writing...She is my favorite poet.
Thank you for your insights, Renata,
j.

[John the Baptist]

A sense of futility hovers over this one. The poet is old and diminished, as are his desk and typewriter. The poems, once published, now are seemingly forgotten and will live no more. It is a somber picture, but at least the poet gave it his best shot. Not that many ever give their potential a test.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I really agree with your last line in your review...Many never give their potential a test.
Thanks for your words,
j.

[iTryToWriteAllTheTime]

This is beautiful. Love your second stanza the most. It's got sadness, but it's more than just sorrow.

We are in time. Some bits of ourselves endure longer than others. Perhaps there is nobility in being forgotten. Again, beautifully done.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Perhaps there is. Thank you, iTry.
j.

[Chris]

Hi Jacob... Where do we go from here? Shaking my head, then nodding. A purr-fect April Fool's... of our selves.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Thank you for your comment and question, Chris,
j.