WEBVTT

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This poem is called--
this poem takes its title

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from Saint Paul.

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It's called, We Shall
All Be Born Again,

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But We Shall Not All Be Changed.

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And Saint Paul was a
well-known wet blanket.

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[LAUGHTER]

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1 Corinthians, I think.

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This poem takes
place in a hospital,

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has a piece of medical
equipment in it,

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the nature of which you may
or may not recognize it.

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A featured role in
the poem is played

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by something called an
echocardiogram, which

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is a machine that provides
a picture on a television

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monitor of the heart at work, so
that if you should be hooked up

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to one of these,
you can actually

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watch your own
heartbeat, which is

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an incredibly violent
and dramatic event if you

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get to see it.

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It's a sort of video game
in which the invaders

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come from inner space.

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[LAUGHTER]

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The main character in this
poem spends some time connected

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to one and experiences a sense
of watching his own heartbeat

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but on television.

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And it might be-- that might be
a puzzling detail if you didn't

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know how the machine works.

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We shall all be born again, but
we shall not all be changed.

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We're going, the paramedic said.

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And how I burned to
be part of that we,

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to take you to the hospital.

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It would be life as a
direct object for a while.

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Into the ambulance, they
slid me like a loaf of bread.

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Everyone listened to
my three-part heartbeat

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and scoured my
echocardiogram for the source

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of its extra stress.

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I watched my heart
lash and writhe

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and batter for an hour on
TV, only its normal violence.

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But it looked as
though it wanted out.

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This will be an inside job.

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What could break one
of those but itself?

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It's hard not trusting my
body when I am my body.

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And yet, poor animal that
I am, I trust it and I did.

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From pride's defeat by
helplessness and from fear

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and from the white balm
of obedience and stupor,

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I came back to jostle and murk.

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One friend sat smoking on
my bed and told the habits

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I'd need to change.

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Just then, I knew how
close those who love me

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had come to need
to explain me away.

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I'd been too sick to take
my own side in a fight

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but against whom?

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My treacherous durable heart has
never heard of moral victory.

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