Whatever we say
we know there is another
language under this one
a word of it is always
there on the tip of you
unsayable and early
O you for whom
all the languages have been named
who have none of your own
naked sleeper in the cave
where you were born
dreamer without words
who first tasted
a verb of the world
you who speak as though
you could see
you have not forgotten
the serpent your ancestor
its fluttering inarticulate flame
of expectation
on the way to you
--W.S. Merwin
This poem is from Merwin's 2005 volume titled Present Company, in which every poem is addressed to its subject--which may be a person, a place, a body part. Some go far afield from there, but this one sticks with the tongue. It plays with a cliche (it's on the tip of my tongue) and the second meaning of tongue as a language, before finding the actual tongue as "naked sleeper in the cave where you were born;" in other words, the mouth. It plays with the tongue's resemblance to a snake, before bringing the various meanings together. Each reading of this short poem ignites new insights and delights. It's even a little impudent--like the Rolling Stones' logo above.
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