by Billy Collins
~
~
The name of the author is the first to go,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,
as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses good-bye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,
something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.
Whatever it is you are struggling to remember
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.
It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.
No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.
~
If what we have learned is only represented by what we remember, then I know very little.
Here's an interesting animated version of this poem. (There seem to be quite a few animated versions of Billy Collins' poems.)
Bonus: The "mythological river" Collins refers to is the river Lethe, which in Greek means "forgetfulness."
Do you have a favorite poem?
2 comments:
Let's see, I had a really witty, interesting comment I was about to post. Now, what was it...
Yes, I have a favorite poem! It's a Pablo Neruda poem...
I heart poetry :)
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