With Nothing Here But Me I Begin
by Darryl Price
to unwind looking for the answer.
I confess I wasn't so discreet
as life demanded, laughing like a
nowhere poet. Nothing relieved the
god awful boredom. Many times I
confess I hadn't really taken
the vitamins, crying like a court
jester thrown into a dungeon on
market day, and felt ashamed of all
human hypocrisy everywhere.
Many times over I confess I'm
paranoid; I can try to love the
police but they all act like Hitler
to me. Many times I confess there's
a sadness inside. Often I say
to myself I guess I can describe
a circle as well as the next guy.
I put forth my arms, look, I confess
to embrace the whole world, too, but just
because you're in it. Many times I
confess I've been places and seen things
that didn't appeal to me, weird things
worried me, like proselytizing guys
looking for disciples and money.
Many times I confess my own quick
sarcastic stupidity lacks all
sense of tenderness. Many times I
confess I'm scared, a madly lost cat,
a paradox, I'm sorry, really.
But if I close my eyes the horses
are beautiful again; the haunted
hopelessness I can do without. I
must confess I only wish to be
real, authentic, surprising, human
and kind with you in both joy and pain.
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Author's Note
I hate excuses. I'd rather live and express honestly--but even that's a path that must be tread carefully. You're still responsible for your own actions. So I try not to pretend. I'd rather be real, even if climbing a hill all alone.
Other stories by Darryl Price
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I like this a lot. I'm unable to discuss it with the knowledge of an academic, but the voice speaks to me. Were a I little younger I'd try it out in a singles bar...or, better, after a second or third date. *
Matt's comment made me smile but I get what he means. This is like hearing a stranger's confession whispered in a secluded corner and feeling like a gift has been given, or like I'm included in a circle. I really liked this piece.
I like Carol's comment better than mine.
"like I'm included in a circle"
Good description of Darryl's poems, Carol--they are inclusive.
I've met Darryl. He's, as this poem says, "real, authentic, surprising, human / and kind."
And an amazing poet.
"But if I close my eyes the horses / are beautiful again"
*
This is unusually direct--the poems I'm judging this against have a visceral pull, but it's underneath the surface, and it's slightly beyond the reader's immediate grasp.
Not what I expected, but I'm pleasantly surprised.*
*
"I only wish to be
real, authentic, surprising, human
and kind with you in both joy and pain."
Like Matt, I'm not a poet or academic, but I enjoyed the directness and honesty in this. And this language in particular:
"But if I close my eyes the horses
are beautiful again, the haunted
hopelessness I can do without."*