Wednesday, January 26, 2005

Death of a poetry student: a poem

My Last Will and Testament
Or
What I leave behind.



Prologue: A social commentary in five oblique parts describing why my dog died when I was five and why I’m scarred for life, doomed to live an insane lifestyle only the true artist can understand.

1) At the end of each sentence a fellow student laughs and comments to the irritation of others. She did not kill my dog but I would prefer that she had so I'll have a legitimate reason for my hatred.

2) The voices I pretend I hear tell me to write with indifference. I am a genius never to be understood in my lifetime. Thus, I must drink myself into a stupor and ingest multitudes of legal and illegal narcotics. And when I hear a car drive by followed by the barking of a dog I shed a tear.

3) The lost song of my loved one, never met as of now. I dream of her loving touch. Her caress to soothe me from my overbearing pain.

4) I remember being made fun of in high school. This is why I now wear only black and smoke only exotic foreign cigarettes. This is why I have a tattoo of e.e. cummings as a vampire displayed across my back. This is why I scoff at anything less than inspired.

5) Then I remember I never had a dog. In fact I’m allergic to dogs. Just more of my deep inner pain.

Epilogue: Finally. I expect to die an early death, most likely a suicide. My note left to the living shall be written in haiku, preferably in the original Japanese. I expect my words to be ignored until my tragic end wherein critics suddenly change their minds and my genius is finally realized.

1 comment:

Jason said...

Dear friends,

Have you no concept of genius? Have you no sight for righteousness? Has all worldly vision escaped you? You stand (or rather sit) in the company of greatness. If you choose not to read this blog, I care not. I only care for the lack of spirit you will feel in your soul as you lie in wait of death knowing that you, yes you, could have touched greatness for just a moment.

But alas, such opportunities exist for but a moment in time, stitched into the fabric of our fleeting thoughts, and only a few brave souls know how to reach out and grab them. I, not possessing that insight, can only linger around the warmth of already lit fires and hope that the flames catch me by surprise.

Now, a peom:

Amichai is cool
Amichai you rule
Amichai don't drool you fool
cause that would be cruel to you mule

Read the blog damnit, all you poor bastard sons on the internet age! Read THE blog!