All right, I thought that I'd like
to read some poems from what I want,
since it's still available.
And I have a new book coming out in the spring.
So I want to sell as many copies of this as I can.
They just tear it up after that.
There are a couple of people in this audience who
have heard a few of these poems a number of times--
my apologies.
I can't help it if you go everywhere I go, John.
All right, this is called Agnes.
And it's a poem in parts, inspired by work
by RD Laing in the book Sanity, Madness,
and the Family, which is a series of interviews
of young women, British women, who have been hospitalized
and called schizophrenic.
And the interviews in this book are
done with people in the family structure
that this person who's been hospitalized belongs to.
And the interviews very clearly establish the fact
that the madness, or the schizophrenia,
is a system, a family system, rather than--
and that the person that goes into the hospital
is simply the person who has the least defenses
and is most vulnerable in their personality structure.
And when I read the book, I felt very identified a lot,
at different points, with some of these women.
And I wanted to write--
I wanted to write a group of poems.
But it came out as one poem in parts.
So this is it.
And their voices in it, there's the voice of Agnes, her mother,
her father, and a narrator.
She wouldn't like Agnes to be like some types today.
As for the boys, she didn't mind what boys Agnes went out with,
what boy she--
hmm-- provided he intended to marry her and was not flighty.
She never objected to Agnes kissing boys.
It was natural, provided it wasn't done openly.
Openly, Agnes kissing, that-- hmm-- was Agnes' business.
She would not interfere unless--
of course, unless he wasn't Agnes' type.
I hear him.
He comes to my bed at night, carrying
his box of plumbing tools.
I suppose it's not quite a nice thing to have sexual feelings,
is it?
Do you think?
I wanted to be like Jesus, aboveboard and straightforward.
But people are nosy.
People are underhand.
Jesus helps me.
But now I don't tell my mum about the plumber.
Coming on since Christmas, we had
to choose our words carefully.
Agnes was sitting by the fire, putting cream on her face.
I saw the fire on her face.
She was sitting there.
The cream was spread all over her.
Oh, do be careful, Agnes, her dad said.
Then she threw the tissue into the fire.
That's when it began.
Yes, it had been coming, coming on. since Christmas, coming.
Agnes keeps to herself.
That's the trouble.
The illness kept coming.
She wanted to dress mannish.
The disgusting way people dress today--
kept coming.
I wanted to wear blue jeans like Shirley and Betty wear them.
To tell the truth, men do seem to find them attractive,
blue jeans.
Agnes was-- hmm, she's always imagining atmospheres,
how people feel, being critical, not liking her.
And it's very trying, the feeling people are against her.
She often masturbated when people weren't kind.
She told it to mum, but mum was embarrassed.
Agnes told her about the stunt.
But mum knew nothing about it.
There had never been anything like that.
She didn't really know what it was.
Her mum said, she's been spoiled more than the others, too
much affection showered.
She tended to sense atmospheres.
Mum had always said that about Agnes.
Religion was always her trouble.
Jesus has helped me a lot.
But he's too much in my life.
He drives me and it gets on my nerves.
But Jesus loves me.
He is the only one who cares.
And nothing's wrong with the other two.
And nothing's wrong with the other two, dad says.
They were just like normal persons.
Nothing seemed to worry them like normal persons.
Too much fuss over Agnes, something
definitely wrong with Agnes.
She always got worked up to a point, Agnes did.
Agnes, being irritable at home.
Agnes, getting on our nerves.
Agnes, worrying about things, going on about things.
Agnes, not mixing with everyone and anyone.
Agnes, talking about religion in a simple manner.
Agnes, saying her father was picking on her.
Agnes, not telling her father her thoughts.
That's her illness.
That's what I mean.
Agnes, laughing to herself.
Agnes, not pulling herself together.
Agnes, liking a boy and not knowing if she's in
love with him.
Agnes, off to hospital.
50 insulin comas-- apparently well.
Discharged, referred, relapsing, re-referred.
50 insulin comas, tranquilizers, discharged.
Readmitted, tranquilizers, clinically improved,
discharged, tranquilizers.
Dad is disappointed in Agnes.
What he wanted for her was nothing nicer
than to come home from a hard day's work,
and relax, and sit down and listen to the wireless
or television with a nice fire.
That's what he wanted for her, with a nice fire-- what
he wanted.
But no, she didn't, did she?
Didn't come home to it.
No, she'd been a failure.
He didn't mind Agnes being cheeky.
But she wasn't cheeky like other people.
She was old enough to know whether or not
she was in love with the electrician.
But she didn't know.
He had been working in their house.
She heard his voice at night, but she didn't know.
Sometimes he said he would kill her.
But his voice was loving.
That's why she couldn't know her true feelings.
He asked if she was married.
He asked how she spent her time.
He offered to take her to a club.
Walking down the sidewalk, she wondered if this was Mr. Right.
Then inside her, something funny happened inside her, something
she couldn't describe.
But it was that night he spoke to her, that night in her bed.
But there you are--
true enough, there was no harm in that for a normal person.
She'd be sitting by the fire, and all of a sudden
she'd give a silly grin or a laugh.
And I'd say, well, what are you laughing at?
And she'd never tell.
She'd never once tell.
Thank you.
[APPLAUSE]
I'd like to suggest, if it wouldn't offend you,
that perhaps you--
I appreciate your applause.
And I'll just continue reading now.
And then maybe you could hold it till the end.
It would be simpler.
Then you don't have to get anxious.