just when i think i've outgrown liking poetry,
there's this new one by john ashbery in the december 20 new yorker:
in those days
music, food, sex, and their accompanying
tropes like a wall of light at a door
once spattered by laughter
come round to how you like it—
was it really you that approved?
and if so what does the loneliness
in all this mean? how blind are we?
we see a few feet into our future
of shrouded lots and ditches.
surely that way was the long one
to have come. yet nobody
sees anything wrong with what we're doing,
how we came to discuss it, here, with the wind
and the sun sometimes slanting.
you have arrived at this step, and the way down
is paralyzing, though this is the lost
youth i remember as being o.k., once.
got to shuffle, even if it's only the sarcasm
of speech that gets lost, while the blessed
sense of it bleeds through,
open to all kinds of interpretations.
posted December 13, 2004 in delivery, print