I was 31 years old
employed
as a mail clerk
in a large company
Once or twice a week
I was asked,
“What are you going to
do next?”
“I don’t know,” I’d say
“You realize, you’re a
very smart guy,
you could go wherever
you wanted to here.”
“Maybe so,
but this place has
nothing
that I want.”
That’s usually
when I got
the
blank
stare
I do possess
certain ambitions
but those ambitions
have nothing to do
with working for
businesses
large or small
I write poems at night
instead of working spreadsheets
I watch and record people
instead of managing them
I buy paper and ink
instead of new suits
I long for
the perfect word
The perfect line
The perfect poem
I work toward them
in a fever
almost certain
they will never
appear
Almost
certain
But it makes
no difference
America
though I love you
I won’t give you
the great businessman
that you want
I will instead
spend my
hours
days
years
climbing a
different ladder
It is
a ladder with
no
top rung
It is a
ladder
standing on
uneven
ground
It is
a ladder
leaning on the
economy
of
words
[Edited by my good friends, Braden, Costa, Curl and Sommerfeld at the Hawthorne Hideaway with bad beer, 21 January 07]
_____________________________________
Robert Bruce is one of the most read, linked, loved and reviled poets working on the web. He writes at KNIFE GUN PEN every Monday from Portland, Ore. Get more over at Twitter. If this did something to you or for you, go ahead and spread it around...
{ 2 trackbacks }
{ 8 comments… read them below or add one }
Hear hear! Robert, you’ve outdone yourself.
You forgot to mention the bad pool… Looking forward to the time when you run your cursor over my name that little finger appears, guiding you to a hopefully mildly entertaining site. Keep on keepin’ on. I am always available for editing sessions that include bad beer and pool.
Robert, as I’m sure you know very well, business is, at best, a means to an end. That end is quality of life. What you’re doing here adds way more quality to *my* life than any amount of paper pushing in an office could ever do.
Great poem and fun. It reminds me of Martin Espada’s poem in Alabanza called “Who Burns for the Perfection of Paper.”
I like these lines especially:
“I watch and record people / instead of manage them / I buy paper and ink / instead of new suits”
And the way you address America directly.
But the real irony is that you are a wonderful businessman. You just sell poetry. And there’s no shame in that! If only the market for poetry were as responsive as the market for stuff. But then “all art is quite useless,” right?
Sometimes you have to kill a 1000 men to realize,
money is piss,
and you’ve all been wasting your time.
(paraphrasing buk)
Fuck them all Brucey, Fuck every last one.
You raise an interesting point my friend.
It brings to mind the phrase:
Fight the good fight. For in the end, that is all, that is all….
I read that on a cocktail napkin somewhere… somewhere…
Yours,
Mantooth
I’m sorry to inform you, but this poem had it going. And then it just died. Try harder next time, please.
Sorry the beer was bad, but if it helped in producing this, can’t be all bad.