Babel (2004)

Poet Barbara Hamby knows something of the world's languages and the mess they make for people seeking understanding through translation and interpretation. Her poem "Six, Sex, Say" runs through the etymology of words based on geographical pronunciations.

I know if I were doing drugs I would think this was possibly the key to unraveling the universe

She pokes fun of the misunderstandings that would stem from these words spoken or heard from bordering neighbors of differing accents. What mayhem the tower of Babel caused for us all! The poem she wrote that I wish I had written is "Ode on My Mother's Handwriting". Hamby winds through the alphabet of penmanship and personality. As she does, I see my mother and I see myself.

Would that every infant could nestle in the warm crook of her c's, taste the sweet milk of her d's, hear the satiny coos of her nonsense whisperings, making the three-pronged razor of her E easier to take, the bad girl, i'm ashamed of you, disappointed, hateful, shame, shame, shame

all the way down the final 26th:

Why am I still her acolyte... because in the curve of her zed is my Zen master, my beginning and my end

Hamby's poetical anectdotes move through Paris as easily as her 1977 Toyota and it is a pleasant dance.