In this chapter, Jeremiah gets put in a jaill in a scribe's house. The king seeks Jeremiah's prophecy, and in exchange, transfers him to a different prison in "the court of the guard" (presumably near the palace grounds) where Jeremiah is given bread everyday, until the city runs out of bread due to the Babylonian siege. This got me started on thinking a scribe's house, or a library, as a prison. Here is the result:
They won't let me read Rilke in here, or write about flowers. All day long they make me read Fernando Pessoa, and criticize my Portuguese. They even put bars on the windows, and the bread they feed me is moldy - the say this makes it taste more like a metaphor.
Today, God came and told me to write a poem - but he wouldn't give me a topic, only a title - "Song of Songs". But how can you write a song when you are starving?
"This is a library, not a prison", they say, but any place is a prison when you can't leave. They even make me earn my pens by dusting the shelves, and my paper by cleaning book-covers - and why won't they let me sing rose-petal serenades?
"This next poem", they say, "had better be good, or you're looking at life without parole". Well screw them! What do they know? When's the last time they used meter or metonymy?
I bet they can't even rhyme, those jail guards, with their silly sticks and their brown hats. Maybe I'll write a song about their stupidity: I would gladly trade some beauty for a piece of chocolate.
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