Robert Polito

Air here is like the water Of an aquarium that’s been lived in for a while—clear and still Beyond the rigors Of glass; appearing cold (and clear) as spring streams Fed by snow and ice, But unexpectedly warm to feel, and inviting; side-lit— A vitality of shadows Once you come into it, and long bars of light Burning like spots, Remarkable for the absence of dust in their sharp crossfires; Heavy, as crystal Is heavy, as if to move here would mean pushing against a force Palpable, and strong; Yet rich with prospects of life, comfortable With the idea of life, As if, put on its slide, every drop is stocked with wonders, Swarming, about to burst— Beautiful in a way, One element sustaining another, our message brought home So that the living Might come to see. Harder to say that without them We are nothing— Water without air; or to speak of our isolation, Or our special loneliness; Or say as they look right through us, at their plants, Pictures, books, Windows, reflections, and blank white walls, That we need them, To orient ourselves and to tell us who we are; Or that with each look They are swimming to within our sights; or that we are always casting Wider and wider And that even now they are fighting to avoid our nets.

for Patti Smith At the end of Bing Crosby’s Riding High his horse Will be buried in the clay of the racetrack where he fell, As a lesson for all of us. Sad, waggish Bing, The Mob didn’t want Broadway Bill to win, so the jockey Pulled on the reins until the thoroughbred, straining Over the finish line first, collapsed, heart attack. I loved you like a guitar string breaking Under the conviction of a clumsy hand— Something like that . . . I suppose I must have Been thinking of you and your complex and beautiful band, Except the image demands I hold the guitar, If not you, and the broken string, as Over and over loudspeakers call riders to the starting gate. The track bartender and a teller, a sharpshooter and the chess master Wrestler, the petty con man and a cop, reprise their parts. The heist gang dons clown masks, and Sherry will betray George, and Johnny can’t love Fay, And the fortune in the suitcase just blows away.

When I can’t make you understand I repeat myself I repeat If you don’t stop asking me all these questions how Will I understand anything Please refrain from talking during the movie I need a life that isn’t just about needing To escape my life Please God please may Carrie please fall for me I want to show off my hidden camera I’m an informer but I have my limits You hurt him once before now what If she’s there I don’t know if I can go Please refrain from talking during the movie Leave a message if you can’t reach me To exit press enter and don’t forget your receipt When I think I read new things I want A life where I read and think new things Please refrain from talking during the movie I want to know nothing Again Please God please may Carrie please fall for me I repeat myself when I can’t Make you understand I repeat

Oh, de wars and de scrapes And de sprees am done—sprees am done De foe am beat. De Turks am drowned—Turks am drowned. All safe and sounds To our wives we come . . . — Otello , by T. D. Rice Dreams may come from the enemy— from the business of the past day— from a disordered body— from moral evil— from God, through the medium of the Angels, and departed saints, as forewarnings to stir up and prepare the mind for the scenes ahead. I fell into a slumber; and in it I dreamed that two devils entered the room, each with a chain in his hand; they laid hold on me, the one at my head, the other at my feet, and bound me fast, and breaking out the window, carried me a distance from the house and laid me on a spot of ice, and while the weaker devil flew off in flames of fire, the stronger one set out to carry me down to hell. I put my hands together and said, Lord I submit to go and preach thy gospel; only grant my peaceful hours to return, and open the door. Here I received the solemn news of the death of our only child. The vibration of the earth shook down the trees, thousands of willows were swept off like a pipe stem, about waist high, and the swamps became high ground, and high land became low ground, and two islands in the river were so shaken, washed away and sunk, as not to be found. From this I infer some trouble is at hand, But the film was already starting— The sounds came in waves, higher and higher, at the top of it someone screaming— Now what you call your great disappointment, I call the Great Awakeneing— When I heard (though not always in these old forgotten words I remember) the first of three visions— Yet if you tell me they are only my dear dead returning, I would not disbelieve you. 2. It is an odd sort of fortune to have lived an adventurous life. In my disgust, I left school and devoted all my blighted spirit to minstrelsy; I had no natural aptness for the banjo, but for dancing— such a remarkable gift few ever saw. The first part of our performances we gave with white faces; and by practicing to knock spin and toss the tambourine back in my room, I was now the “Scotch Girl” in plaid petticoats. Besides my Highland Fling, I took the principal lady parts in the negro ballets; for a lad, I danced “Lucy Long” so admirably a planter in one of the Southern States insisted on purchasing me, until the door-tender kicked that planter down the stairs. Old Ephraim was one of the most comical specimens of the negro species, the blackest face, largest mouth, whitest teeth; What could he do? Why, he could fetch water, black our boots, take care of our baggage. My father said of Howie Gray who worked beside him every day at the South Station PO and put both his sons through college, “He’s not an uppity Negro.” My father meant that as a compliment. There were tears in his eyes when Howie Gray died. 3. Every man his own radio— It hath been thought that the dying speeches of such as have been executed among us might be of singular use to correct the crimes wherein too many do live Billington, disregarding the commotion he was causing and the certainty of apprehension, reloaded and stalked his enemy. She concealed her crime until the time of her delivery, and then being delivered alone by her self in a dark room, she murdered the harmless and helpless infant. Foster didn’t say a word. He just picked up a steal boomer and smashed Pikin over the head with it. I went forth to be delivered in the field, and dropping my child by the side of a little pond (whether alive or stillborn I cannot tell), I covered it over with dirt and snow and speedily returned home. He struck the helpless Kling again and again Mr. Spooner strove to speak, when down, Brooks took him by the throat and partly strangled him. Ross and Buchanan came out. Ross took Mr. Spooner’s watch and gave it to Buchanan. Brooks and Ross took him up and put him in the well head first. Before they carried him away, I, Buchanan, pulled off his shoes. Eight streaks of splattered blood. Eight murderous strokes of an axe or knife. Was found, by a person with a dog, crossing the fields, in a piece of woods a little distance from Brandywine to the Turk’s Head, two dead infants. Now what you call your Great Awakening, I call Much Ado, I call The Big Sleep— But when did I become someone on whom everything is lost? Like the dream I lifted from my father like a Band-Aid— Where I checked hats, that instantly, embarrassingly disappeared— My earnest offers to return the $1.00 gratuity raining down on dead ears— I thought I was boyish. It availed me nothing.

As phantoms direct life from the shadows, I feel I leaned on something, and it broke. My father on the porch with his crosswords said, this must be what it feels like to be dead; When I returned from the dead there was no one to greet me, but still you are glad— I wander the ruins the way my tongue wanders my missing teeth, the bricks and mortar of Deep Deuce rotted like molars in an ancient mouth; Here Charlie Christian might have walked— The astrologer counseled patience and creative imaging: Step One: Visualize an object that symbolizes the accursed influence. Picture yourself throwing it into a furnace. Step two: Visualize the person who is responsible for the curse. Imagine one end of a rope is tied around your waist and the other around that person. Picture yourself cutting the rope with a chainsaw as you call out, “You have no power over me!” Step three: Repeat twice a day for eleven days . . . You visualize her green boots inside the furnace . . . —No. You are in a crematorium and you see her perfect and corruptible body on a tray sliding into fire; Then you see yourself cutting the rope that ties you together with a saw; And then at last your own imperfect and corruptible body—I mean, me—calls out and I jump in after her.