WEBVTT

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This is a poem about friendship.

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And it's called, "The
Best Halves of Our Lives."

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It was written in a peculiar
way and probably a bit dishonest

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in that sense, but every poet
probably has this circumstance.

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I was-- my wife and I were
in Yugoslavia for a while,

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a couple of years
ago, and I was trying

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to write a poem about friendship
and wasn't having much luck.

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I mean, the whole thing
was about the abstraction

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of friendship.

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And after I'd finished
one version of the poem,

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I was looking through my drawer
and found an old poem that was

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wasn't very successful.

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And it was simply a
poem about a landscape,

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about standing by
the side of a lake

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and seeing yourself mirrored
in the lake, whatever.

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I just yoked the two poems
together in such a way

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that they fortunately
turned out to be one poem.

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"The Best Halves of Our Lives."

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"The dark lake's emptiness
spreads to its receding shores,

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the last red flag
of day breaks down.

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And I look back and dream,
patient for miracles.

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I am glad to be alone,
to evoke your images

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around a table playing cards,
old friends with little to say.

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At our feet, the
dogs sleep fitfully.

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Our wives who keep us
together and apart,

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rise to remind us
of our daily lives.

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I stand by the water
watching clouds,

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for whole days remembering
nothing at all.

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Here at the edges, less matters.

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I measure life by seasons
away from friends,

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imagining each in his storybook
house writing letters which

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ascend, and hexagons,
and circles,

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to settle miles away on my roof.

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And the angel in the
lake, imperfect friend,

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finds me in this other
place grim with maturity

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and distance, watching a
kingfisher and the swallow dip

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in a last evening flight,
and meet their shadows

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rising in the water."

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