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Isadora Duncan
by David Hill
It’s the bizarre death,
I admit it, or no
it’s the great quote.
I don’t know,
I somehow took note…
Barefooted, bare legged
bare the lies of convention,
coax to become the music,
coax to become,
by god, to truly, finally
be,
free
A silken scarf wrapped round and round your throat
that flowing scarf wrapped round and round a wheel…
You were once wild here, don’t let them tame you.
And it’s etched in my brain,
I’ll remember your name.
05/08/2011 Posted on 05/08/2011
Copyright © 2026 David Hill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 05/08/11 at 04:36 PM ...dave, now i will remember her name. great traipse into an individual's being. |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 05/08/11 at 04:43 PM ...moreso since i googled her and read more than i knew, which was zilch; it speaks to your very-nicely-done pome, even more. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 07/20/11 at 03:14 PM Heck of a way to be remembered, yes? She certainly lived life her way. I liked the quote in one article about the long, flowing scarf -'The accident gave rise to Gertrude Stein's mordant remark that "affectations can be dangerous."' Anyhow, you made me think about what makes me remember people. |
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