Read Walking the Black Cat by Charles Simic Free Online
Book Title: Walking the Black Cat|
The author of the book: Charles Simic
Edition: Mariner Books
Date of issue: October 17th 1996
Format files: PDF
The size of the: 951 KB
City - Country: No data
ISBN 13: 9780156004817
Loaded: 2191 times
Reader ratings: 6.2
Read full description of the books:
Philosophy is for the young. Poetry is for the aged.
I said that.
Well, for anyone who didn't catch the Dylan references (including the three words above) ... Not so far-fetched now, okay? And who was being complimented most? Maybe it was Charles, ...
Charles Simic. Pulitzer Prize winner, twice a finalist for the award. US Poet Laureate 2007-2008. MacArthur fellow. And so on. Serbian-American b. 1938. Six years older than I.
... not Bob.
Bob Dylan. Nobel Prize winner (2016), eleven Grammy Awards, a Golden Globe Award, and an Academy Award. Received special citation from Pulitzer Prize jury (2008) for "his profound impact on popular music and American culture, marked by lyrical compositions of extraordinary poetic power." And so on. Fellow Minnesotan, b. 1941. Three years older than I.
Hey, this was the first poetry I’ve read since Billy Collins. Apparently (unintentionally) I only read US Poet Laureates.
But it won’t be my last. As that famous saying above indicates, poetry is trying to become a game I play. It’s perhaps time. Hopefully not too late.
Simic certainly has a different voice than Collins, doesn’t he? But not so different (at times) than Dylan.
Relaxing in a Madhouse
They had finally attached the evening’s tears to the windowpanes.
The holy saints in their tombs were burning, all except one who was a prisoner of a dark-haired movie star.
Moses wore a false beard and so did Lincoln.
X reproduced the Socratic method of interrogation by demonstrating the ceiling’s ignorance.
“They stole the secret of the musical matchbook from me,” confided Adam.
“The world’s largest rooster was going to make me famous,” said Eve
O to run naked over the darkening meadow after the cold shower.
In the white pavilion the nurse was turning water into wine.
Hurry home, dark cloud.
Charles Simic said that.
Well then, who said this?
When you're lost in the rain in Juarez
And it's Eastertime too
And your gravity fails
And negativity don't pull you through
Don't put on any airs
When you're down on Rue Morgue Avenue
They got some hungry women there
And they really make a mess outa you.
If you don’t know, (view spoiler)[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1b2RU... (hide spoiler)]
Okay now I’ve got that off my chest. Unfortunatly, the next many poems by Simic didn’t do much for me. I started despairing. I did believe I’d had enough.
Not to say there weren’t bit and pieces I liked.Playing poker with a scar-faced killer…
I have holes in my socks…
I also have a long tail
And look like a monkey
Because I keep lying all the time…
The world we see in our heads
And the world we see daily,
So difficult to tell apart
When grief and sorrow bow us over…
And the sudden terror and exhilaration…
This couple strolling arm in arm
Must be figments of someone’s revery…
The overlooked sunflower worth a holler…
Our sweet setup is in danger?...
THE MASTER OF CEREMONIES
Between his tricks I was nowhere
I could think of…
… for Nothing
Hey Charles Simic
Are you homeless or
What? What’s with the holy socks
Lying in the doorway, lost
in the rain in Juarez?
Where’s your musical
matchbook now, old man?
And what about that ant farm in your head?
Hey! Now that the scar-faced killer
has beat you with an Ace-high nothing
I should introduce you to Bobby Zimmerman
Who do you think you are, that derivative
moralistsic Plutarch? Will all my attempts
to show us her cleavage
Who do you think you are,
Making me put pen to paper just to
Make an Ass of not Dogberry
But Myself. Hey!
Thanks … (hide spoiler)]
And then there’s HAVE YOU MET MISS JONES?
I have. At the funeral
Pulling down her skirt to cover her knees
Showing us her cleavage
Down to the tip of her nipples.
But who was she?
Miss Jones, the guest book proclaimed.
Well bully for you, Mr. Simic.
I've met Mr. Jones. And he is us.
Wonder if they knew each other?
that link no longer works ... this is pretty good, for a while, for a thin man ...
Still searching for connections between my neurons and those of Mr. Simic.
… and then …
and I started to get things. Maybe it was something I ate. Or the earphones I was wearing.
Strange. OK. check mark check mark check mark
They’re growing on me
like a fungus
I should have kept rolling.
Invite us to read them like a clock
Some of these are like
a clock …
hands going round
Never getting anywhere
but always trying.
Starting over again and again.
Maybe burrowing inside someone’s
Evenings, they ran their bloody feet
over the pages of my schoolbooks.
With eyes closed, I can still hear
The trees on our street
Saying a moody farewell to summer,
And someone, under our window, recalling
The silly old cows hesitating,
Growing suddenly suspicious
Just as the blade drops on them.
Charles said that. (view spoiler)[ or was is Kurt? (hide spoiler)]
Random Notes(view spoiler)[
SUNSET’S COLORING BOOK ----
the windmill’s of MY mind
IN A FOREST OF WHISPERS ---
everything is a thing alone
a one by itself
except the forest
which has just the one withered tree
or is just all those whispers
take your pick.
MAKE YOURSELF INVISIBLE --
This forest has no whispers
The birds are silent
Will their silence keep them
us bread crumbs?
LATE TRAIN ---
things make noises
or make silence
it’s dark more than it
should be. The sun
seems to be slothful
staying in bed long past the hour
keeping the dawn under the covers.
The man in the moon must be
lost in the desert. He’s absent too.
Or maybe he just got pissed
having to work overtime. (hide spoiler)]
So When All Was Read and Done
These may do fine, Charles.
I know you’ve told many more like this.
Each one a different worm-hole.
But these will do fine, thanks.
How many of these strange tunnels
Does one man need?
These really must be enough,
a fine lot they are, and until
I find my way out,
I won’t be needing a greater maze.
Thanks for nothing, Charles.
Well, make that something.
AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT
With trepidation, but already many times overcome in less than fifty pages …
The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova
will take me months
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Read information about the authorCharles Simic (born Dušan Simić) is a Serbian-American poet and the 15th Poet Laureate of the United States. He is co-Poetry Editor of the Paris Review. Simic is the 2007 recipient of the Wallace Stevens Award from the Academy of American Poets. This $100,000 (US) prize recognizes outstanding and proven mastery in the art of poetry.
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