We Did Not Make Ourselves
By Michael Dickman
(from this week's New Yorker, and my apologies because the formatting isn't perfect)
We did not make ourselves is one thing
I keep singing into my hands
while falling
asleep
for just a second
before I have to get up and turn on all the lights in the house, one after the
other, like opening an Advent calendar
My brain opening
the chemical miracles in my brain
switching on
I can hear
dogs barking
some trees
last stars
You think you’ll be missed
it won’t last long
I promise
____________
I’m not dead but I am
standing very still
in the back yard
staring up at the maple
thirty years ago
a tiny kid waiting on the ground
alone in heaven
in the world
in white sneakers
I’m having a good time humming along to everything I can still remember
back there
How we’re born
Made to look up at everything we didn’t make
We didn’t
make grass, mosquitoes
or breast cancer
We didn’t make yellow jackets
or sunlight
either
_____________
I didn’t make my brain
but I’m helping
to finish it
Carefully stacking up everything I made next to everything I ruined in broad
daylight in bright
brainlight
This morning I killed a fly
and didn’t lie down
next to the body
like we’re supposed to
We’re supposed to
Soon I’m going to wake up
Dogs
Trees
Stars
There is only this world and this world
What a relief
created
over and over
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Poem of the Week (or month, or year)
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8 comments:
A poet observes everthing in life.everything is holy to them.their poems must be sensational,well constructed,and is often thought of as a jewel.the poet is associated with the profet and the person looking.He is absorbed with beauty,he wants that erotic moment to last forever.tunsie.tunsie.tunsie
man is the only creature that is conscious of his death.we are all under the sentence of death.the last thing a person thinks about during the process of death is MOTHER,ironic because she could be dead for many,many years,it"s like she's always there,always with you--albert camus.
I once sent flowers to a very beautiful women and the card inside I wrote "I wanted these flowers to see how beautiful you are".she cried when she read the card,and called me after to tell me that is the most wonderful card she ever read.women are not moved by words anymore.they are motivated by agenda.sad.tunsie.tunsie.tunsie
and miles to go before I sleep.and miles to go before I sleep.Frost repeated the line because he couldn't think of anything else to say........ tunsie.tunsie.tunsie
All I can think of is his extaordinay gift of hope,and a romantic readiness.Let us admire a man when he is alive and not when he is dead,after that my own rule is to leave everything alone.....F Scott Fitzgerald
We are in love with love.....D.H.Lawrence.......You know you're in love when you are paralyzed with happiness....tunsie jabbour.......tunsie.tunsie.tunsie
that is much too vulgar display of my power.......william peter blatty
They are going to get what they want,because I am going to give it to them.......T.E.Lawrence
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