Friday, October 14, 2005

After the World (a poem against the rain)

At some point that night, the rocking stopped.
His bed was a boat on gray water, amid the sea.
He felt himself asleep, but truly he was not:
he was lost on water, with every tree and being
washed away. He was alone on the rocking, floating bed
(that should have sunk), clinging to shadowy memories
of wine, the evening, and company.

The light of the world could be remade, he thought,
on shore he could see the shadows of moving trees,
glowing dim after the deluge finally stopped.
But when in his weakness he let the rocking stop,
then he ceased aspiring to be.
He was in a bed, which was a boat, at sea.

This poem is "anti-inspired" inspired by Walt Whitman's Out of the Cradle, Endlessly Rocking. Inspired by, but in some sense opposite...


Anonymous said...

This is your best poem yet. The poem--especially the last stanza reminds me more of Wallace Stevens than Whitman though. Perhaps a tyouch of Vijay Sheshadri too? Ah, the anxiety of influence :-)

12:48 AM  
Anonymous said...


9:15 PM  

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