The Weakest Link
A long time ago
someone bound me
to the pillar of reason.
It might even have been me:
I can't remember now.
But don't think me tamed
after all these years.
When was the last time
you looked at my eyes?
When was the last time
you really looked
at my eyes?
Even the finest chains rust in time.
6 August 1989
In 1989 there was much about me that was settled. I’d recovered from the hiccup that was my first marriage and was pretty much where I would’ve expected to be at thirty. A reasonable man would count his blessings; pay the mortgage, check the air, oil and water in the car; mow the lawn; remember Valentine’s Day and his wedding anniversary; be on time to visit with his kid and make sure the Blockbuster videos were wound back to the start and returned on time. Yeah, all that stuff and more.
And yet.
Jim - I've been meaning to write to you about this poem for a week now! I enjoyed your riffing on the word "reasonable" and what makes for a reasonable person. Even mowing the lawn (who would ever want to do that?) somehow falls into this behavior. The poem is wonderful. The rusted chains binding us can break at any time. And then what?
ReplyDeleteI wrote a poem a few years ago titled, "Self Portrait of an Ingrate" and the opening line was: If I felt compelled to count my blessings / I'd have to be counting them all of the time. Needless to say, the person in the poem doesn't bother to do the sums.
vp
I think Carrie and I did Thanksgiving once after she came over. Or maybe more than once. I forget. But at least once. I don’t remember if we said what we were thankful for but I don’t think we did. I find it an odd celebration if I’m being honest, Vito, in much the same way as I find Halloween (the Americanised version that’s trying to find its feet here) strange. I’m not an unthankful person—I always thank my wife for whatever meal she’s prepared even if that only involved sticking something in the microwave—but that doesn’t mean I spend every day, Scrooge McDuck-like, counting my blessings. I don’t think I like the word. Who or what has blessed me? My mind goes back to Esau and Jacob. I never got why Isaac couldn’t retract the blessing Jacob conned out of his father or why he couldn’t also bestow his blessing on Esau. It’s not a tangible thing.
ReplyDeleteAs far as reason goes I’ve always held it in higher regard than feeling. Not that I’m unfeeling either, far from it. But I understand reason more than I understand feeling. Feelings so often don’t make any sense. And why should they? It’s reasonable things that make sense. When reason breaks down—as it did in 1989 with all that B. malarkey—well, you’ve no idea the state I was in trying to rationalise my actions. No wonder I was churning out poetry on practically a daily basis.