Male Privilege
to the younger poets, to be cleansed of envy
Wash from your hearts
all dark thoughts of me,
rinse free all memories
of my young worshippers,
sweet things eager to be bedded,
who would afterward raise up
on one elbow asking
at Bread Loaf or Sewanee,
at Aspen or Park City,
now tell me, what do you
really think of my poetry?
Soon I will fall silent,
my mind will wander,
I will read the same poem
twice in one reading
and fail to notice. I will
consume more martinis
than the fabled number
downed by Nemerov, I will grow
drunker than Berryman,
cruder than Dickey, I will become
my own myth, they will remember
me for my outrageous behavior
and a few immortal poems.
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5 comments:
I like this. I do.
This has nothing to do with this poem. This has nothing to do with Maxine Kumin. This has everything to do with you, dear friend. Roll your eyes. Say it's just a horoscope. Pretend it doesn't make you sit up and say: Oh, my.
"A giant Wal-Mart now stands within a mile of the ancient Pyramid of the Sun in Teotihuacán, Mexico. A KFC restaurant emits a steady surge of fried chicken fumes very close to Egypt's Sphinx. Meanwhile, near the most sacred place in your heart, Leo, there is a mound of psychic garbage. You can't do anything about the desecration of the first two places I mentioned, but you can about the third. I recommend that you take care of this little problem in the coming week. In addition to acts of cleansing and purification, I suggest you make a ritual atonement or two."
Cleanse. Purify. Atone.
"I suggest you make a ritual atonement or two"
Well that statement scares the living shit out of me.
I've actually eaten at that KFC. But not chicken, only some cole slaw and some potato wedges.
Love Maxine Kumin.
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