This poem is called-- this poem takes its title
from Saint Paul.
It's called, We Shall All Be Born Again,
But We Shall Not All Be Changed.
And Saint Paul was a well-known wet blanket.
[LAUGHTER]
1 Corinthians, I think.
This poem takes place in a hospital,
has a piece of medical equipment in it,
the nature of which you may or may not recognize it.
A featured role in the poem is played
by something called an echocardiogram, which
is a machine that provides a picture on a television
monitor of the heart at work, so that if you should be hooked up
to one of these, you can actually
watch your own heartbeat, which is
an incredibly violent and dramatic event if you
get to see it.
It's a sort of video game in which the invaders
come from inner space.
[LAUGHTER]
The main character in this poem spends some time connected
to one and experiences a sense of watching his own heartbeat
but on television.
And it might be-- that might be a puzzling detail if you didn't
know how the machine works.
We shall all be born again, but we shall not all be changed.
We're going, the paramedic said.
And how I burned to be part of that we,
to take you to the hospital.
It would be life as a direct object for a while.
Into the ambulance, they slid me like a loaf of bread.
Everyone listened to my three-part heartbeat
and scoured my echocardiogram for the source
of its extra stress.
I watched my heart lash and writhe
and batter for an hour on TV, only its normal violence.
But it looked as though it wanted out.
This will be an inside job.
What could break one of those but itself?
It's hard not trusting my body when I am my body.
And yet, poor animal that I am, I trust it and I did.
From pride's defeat by helplessness and from fear
and from the white balm of obedience and stupor,
I came back to jostle and murk.
One friend sat smoking on my bed and told the habits
I'd need to change.
Just then, I knew how close those who love me
had come to need to explain me away.
I'd been too sick to take my own side in a fight
but against whom?
My treacherous durable heart has never heard of moral victory.