Life, friends, is boring. July 18, 2009Posted by The Typist in literature, New Orleans, NOLA, Odds&Sods, poem, Poetry.
Tags: Dream Song 14, John Berryman
While I try to scrape something together that does not bore me (much less you, poor soul who’s wandered in here looking for the Doobie Brothers or something), I offer you this:
Dream Song 14
By John Berryman
Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) “Ever to confess you’re bored
means you have no
Inner Resources.” I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as Achilles,
who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into the mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.