Sestina Day 37: REALLY Nonsense…

I have no idea what this means.
I should probably stop trying to emulate Paul Muldoon.

It sometimes seems impossible to fuse
Three languages: to see three cultures laid
Over each other: Yellow, blue and red
Produce, When mixed up la coleur du mer-
de, So I always try to say
Just what I mean in English. Even so

Sometimes with laguages I patch and sew
Because my meaning just seems to refuse
To come out cleanly mais, mes amis, ca ce’st
La vie. So understanding is delayed
As these closely related tongues twine merr-
ily, Making a language quite inbred

Poets rush in where linguists fear to tread
And tho my french and german are so-so
Sometimes I need to talk about la mer
And not the sea, In order to defuse
The tension caused by meanings deep inlaid
And which my poem’s trying to assay

Sometimes a word just leaps out and says ‘hey!
Use me! Use me!’ and then the poem’s thread
Becomes entangled, images mislaid
Till I incorporate the so-and-so
It’s easy to see how this might confuse
The reader. It’s a total bloody ‘mare

For me. Ich weiss kein Lord or Lady Mayor
Would want a poem that would use ‘die See’
Oder ‘la mer’. Ich wollte nur defuse
My own trilingual tension but the dread
Slowly mounts up within mon âme as, oh
The audience confusion is relayed

To me and now it cannot be allayed
Ich werde unfug sprechen immermehr
With incorrect and shoddy syntax ipso
Facto, but all poets are insane
Perhaps like Eliot I’ll get some cred
If all my work with nonsense I infuse

I hope so, Hope a golden egg I’ve layed
Maybe by fusing tongues I’ll break the mare
Of poetry, and say all that I’ve read