December is Janet Frame Month
Complaint – Janet Frame
The motor mower a giant wasp on the lawn
reminds me that my nerves are torn.
The TV shots through the wall
do but speak of a Western Hell.
The children’s quarrels and cries
tell me where my hate lies.
The traffic changing gear,
the singer without voice or rear,
the loudspeaker from the factory next door,
remind me that I’ve been here before
in a time quiet enough to hear a thought
parting the tangled stalks of words, creep
soft-footed from the dark into the sure trap
of light, serene light, smooth light;
the splinters piercing the once-quiet spot
remind me that thought without quiet has no shape,
that there’s no escape,
that I wish either noise or I were not, were not.
I found these poems in an old poetry anthology from school. Unfortunately there isn't a reference for where they originally came from.