Now the last two poems I'll read are sections of a six part
elegy I'm writing for my father who died some years ago.
And the parts I read are parts 4 and 5.
The fourth part is called "Answers."
I ask the questions and the voice of my father
answers them.
"Why did you travel?
Because the house was cold.
Why did you travel?
Because it is what I have always done
between sunset and sunrise.
What did you wear?
I wore a blue suit, a white shirt, yellow tie,
and yellow socks.
What did you wear?
I wore nothing.
A scarf of pain kept me warm.
Who did you sleep with?
I slept with a different woman each night.
Who did you sleep with?
I slept alone.
I've always slept alone.
Why did you lie to me?
I always thought I told the truth.
Why did you lie to me?
Because the truth lies like nothing else and I
love the truth.
Why are you going?
Because nothing means much to me anymore.
Why are you going?
I don't know.
I've never known.
How long shall I wait for you?
Do not wait for me.
I'm tired and I want to lie down.
Are you tired and do you want to lie down?
Yes, I'm tired and I want to lie down."
The fifth section is called "Your Shadow."
And there are certain place names
mentioned at the beginning of this poem which
are, in fact, places to my father
had lived in at different points in his life.
"Your Shadow."
"You have your shadow.
The places where you were have given it back.
The hallways and bare lawns of the orphanage
have given it back.
The newsboys home has given it back.
The streets of New York have given it back,
and so have the streets of Montreal.
The rooms in Balanga where lizards
would snap at mosquitoes have given it back.
The dark streets of Manaus and the damp streets of Rio
have given it back.
Mexico City where you wanted to leave at has given it back.
And Halifax with a harbor would wash its hands of you
has given it back.
You have your shadow.
When you travel the white wake of your passage
sent your shadow below, but when you arrived,
it was there to greet you.
You had your shadow.
The doorways you entered lifted your shadow from you.
And when you went out, gave it back.
You had your shadow.
Even when you forgot your shadow, you found it again.
It had been with you.
Once in the country the shade of a tree covered your shadow,
and you were not known.
Once in the country ravens collapsing around a tree
made you think of your shadow and you ask them to be yours,
and they were.
Once in the country you thought your shadow had
been cast by somebody else, your shadow said nothing.
Your clothes carried your shadow inside.
When you took them off, it spread like the dark breadth
of the past.
You still had your shadow.
And your words that still float like leaves
in an air that is lost in a place no one knows,
gave you your shadow back once they were spoken.
The hours in which your shadow would sleep no longer
have time for it.
They gave back your shadow.
Among your friends, you claimed you or your shadows son
and shed what light you could.
They gave you back your shadow.
Your enemies gave you back your shadow.
They said it was heavy and would cover your grave.
Your wife took your shadow and said she would keep it.
She died and you found it beside you on the bed.
Now you have your shadow.
You hated the sun because in the morning
it would take your shadow.
And at night, it would give it back unused, untouched.
You loved the night before it was your shadow,
and you were large surrounding the moon.
Winter took your shadow, which lay like a long cape
on the snow and gave it back with your breath.
When you died, your shadow slept at the mouth of the furnace
and eight ashes for bread.
It rejoiced among ruins.
It watched while others slept.
It's shown like crystal among the tombs,
not to be damned by abundance or uplifted by meagerness.
It composed itself like air.
It wanted to be like snow on water.
It wanted to be nothing, but that was not possible.
It came to my house, it sat on my shoulders.
Your shadow was yours.
I told it so.
I said it was yours.
I have carried it with me too long.
I give it back."
Thank you.
[APPLAUSE]