I'm going to start with a poem that's
particularly inappropriate I think to this group
mainly because you're all here.
And it's a poem to people who don't like poetry too much.
And it attempts to be somewhat sympathetic.
The title of the poem is "Poem For People Who Are
Understandably Too Busy To Read Poetry."
And that's even us sometimes.
So it probably but not most of the time.
So it probably isn't for you, But I read it anyway anyway.
The thing that you should know about it
is that there's a poem within a poem
and it'll be self-evident I think,
but I will just raise my hand like this
when the poem within a poem begins and put it down
when it ceases.
"Poem For People Who Are Understandably Too Busy To Read
Poetry."
"Relax, this won't last long, or if it does
or if the lines make you sleepy or bored, give in to sleep,
turn on the TV, deal the cards.
This poem is built to withstand such things.
Its feelings cannot be hurt.
They exist somewhere in the poet and I am far away.
Pick it up any time, start it in the middle if you wish.
It is as approachable as melodrama
and can offer you violence if it is violence you like.
Look, there's a man on a sidewalk in a red puddle,
I spot my dreams beside his open head.
They've never been clearer.
This is your poem, and I know you're busy at the office
or the kids are into your last good nerve.
Maybe it's sex you've always wanted.
Well, they lie together like the parties unbuttoned
coats slumped on the bed, waiting for drunken arms
to move them.
There I don't think you want me to go on.
Everyone has his expectations, but this is
a poem for the entire family.
Right now Budweiser is dripping from a waterfall,
deodorants are hissing into armpits of people you resemble,
and the two lovers are dressing now saying farewell.
I don't know what music this poem can come up with,
but clearly it is needed for its apparent
they will never see each other again.
And we need music for this because there was never
music when he or she left you standing on that corner.
You see, I want this poem to be nicer than life.
I want you to look at it when anxiety zigzags
your stomach and the last tranquilizer is gone
and you need someone to tell you I'll
be here when you want me like the sound inside a shell.
The poem is saying that to you now.
But do not give up anything for this poem,
it doesn't expect much, it will never say more than listening
can explain.
Just keep it in your attache case or in your house.
And if you're not asleep by now or bored beyond sense,
the poem wants you to laugh, laugh with yourself,
laugh at this poem, at all poetry.
Come on, good.
Now here's what poetry can do.
Imagine yourself a caterpillar.
There's an awful shrug and suddenly you're beautiful
for as long as you live."