We had-- if you write that much--
I mentioned to the class that I talked to this morning,
if you write that much it becomes a free substitute
for psychoanalysis.
I mean, you can't write that much
without every detail of what you're thinking and feeling
coming out.
And it was fascinating to discover where--
which images and which hang ups John had and I had.
When I read back through the book I think about that.
| this is called the Sherpas of Canada.
[LAUGHTER]
Another poet came to my school.
I won't name him.
And he had a kind of ecstatically alcoholic moment
in front of my students.
And he was--
I don't know that he remembers this,
but he was orating, let us say.
He was orating.
And suddenly, out of nowhere, he said the Sherpas of Canada.
And I thought, yes.
[LAUGHTER]
And I thought he won't remember he said that.
[LAUGHTER]
So when it was my turn to write a poem back to John I just,
I had to use that as a title.
I had nothing but the title when I started this.
I thought, well, they might be there.
I think of the Sherpas as in Nepal.
But what would they be doing in Canada?
What do you think?
[LAUGHTER]
The Sherpas of Canada are leading you and your automobile
north to a lake.
The automobile is old.
Maybe you're old, too.
Or, maybe you're just getting older.
On an island in the center of the lake
stands what's left of a house.
Inside it live three little girls.
The house has collapsed, but the little girls
don't seem to mind.
The little girls are actually dolls,
but it's possible they don't know this.
"Will you be our doll?"
one of the little girls asks.
She has a smudge on her porcelain cheek,
and one of her eyebrows is missing.
What you want to say is, "I'm sorry about the love thing.
How nobody ever quite got that right.
And for the way I treated those kittens and for all
those really bad movies."
What you want to say is, "I'm sorry.
I just can't be a doll to dolls."
Instead, you find you can't say anything.
It's as if someone had painted a fake mouth
over your real mouth.
It's cold.
And the wind's picking up.
You try your keys in the automobile ignition.
Nothing happens.
Behind you the Sherpas start singing.
Or, maybe that's just the wind.