Thursday, November 03, 2005

It Is Not the Fact That I Will Die That I Mind

but that no one will love as I did
the oak tree out my boyhood window,
the mother who set herself
so stubbornly against life,
the sister with her serious frown
and her wish for someone at her side,
the father with his dreamy gaze
and his left hand idly buried
in the fur of his dog.
And the dog herself,
that mournful look and huge appetite,
her need for absolute stillness
in the presence of a bird.
I know how each of them looks
when asleep. And I know how it feels
to fall asleep among them.
No one knows that but me,
No one knows how to love the way I do.

--by Jim Moore

7 comments:

innommable said...

I am in love with the man who sent me this poem. You know who you are.

Ergo Sum said...

OMG!? Who's IS THIS?!??? This is AWESOME! It's SOOOO beautiful! It's such a wonderful feeling just reading it! WOW!

Who's poem is this? You're in love with the man who sent you this? Is he also the man who wrote it?? Cuz... you claim to be in love with Pooty... and there's no possible way HE could write it! -- He could SEND it... maybe... but NOT write it! He just can't! His appropriate activities are not writing amazing poems but rooting for his favorite baseball team (or something of that nature).

So, you have to be in love with another man. Hmmm.. that's cool MPR.

Wow. This is good.

Ergo Sum said...

Hmm.. okay, now that my ecstatic delirium elicited by the words of this poem has subsided to some extent, I shall point out few minor, VERY MINOR aesthetic issues it might have, in my opinion:

Toward the beginning of the poem, I got a hint of a rhyming scheme coming about... the vocal rhyme of "so stubbornly against life/...and her wish for someone at her side" -- that got me really excited that not only did this poem begin so strongly, it was also proceeding on with a rhyme!

But then that didn't happen. Which was fine with me... I'm down with free verse... (incidentally, Rand is opposed to free verse poetry [cuz she's a nutcase at times!])...

The lines "and his left hand idly buried/in the fur of his dog" that line seems to be slightly off-balance. If you read the lines before, each character gets two lines of description -- so that's the pattern my brain is getting used to as I read the poem...
"No one will love.../window" - 2 lines.
"The mother..../against life" -- 2 lines.
"The sister..../ her side -- 2 lines.

Then suddenly, the father gets 3 lines of description... and that throws off the pattern and balance of the poem to some extent.

Notice that the description of the dog takes four lines -- which still maintains a balance of 2 and 2. So, really, the rest of the poem is great again... infact, really the entire poem is beautiful and fantastic - my criticisms notwithstanding.

Patrick said...

You're right, ergo... you little twat... I didn't write, but did send this. It was a pleasure to read you sucking all the joy out of it. You should get a job teaching at Smith College or Oberlin.

It was from Garrison Keillor's "Writer's Almanac" at http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/ and was written by Jim Moore.

Ergo Sum said...

LOL!

Ergo Sum said...

Oh.. P.S. Oberlin was one of the colleges I REALLY wanted to go to! Really! For my undergrad... but they didn't offer me enough financial aid.. apparently, I was too poor for them (still am). Hmmm... I hear their all neo-hippie snobs... so my type! :)

Where/What is Smith college?

Patrick said...

Smith is where the hella lesbo hippies go in Amherst, MA. One of those epicenters of queer/feminist theory.