Don't Know Jack

Unbeknownst to me at the time, on my 17th birthday, the man who would come to be my favorite poet some 9 years later gave an interview to NPR. This afternoon, I happened upon it. The neat thing about Jack Gilbert is that he doesn’t consider himself a professional poet. Indeed, over the last 80 years, he’s only published 4 small books. The first two of these are long since out of print and can be found only at great difficulty. Below are two poems from his first collection, which, as far as I know, is not available for purchase anywhere. I found my copy at the university library.

In Dispraise of Poetry

When the King of Siam disliked a courtier,
He gave him a beautiful white elephant.
The miracle beast deserved such ritual care
That to care for him properly meant ruin.
Yet to care for him improperly was worse.
It appears the gift could not be refused.

In that interview with NPR, Gilbert says that a person can only fall in love 4 times in their lives. I’m not sure where he comes up with that numbers, but poets should be knowledgeable in such matters, so I’ll defer to his expertise. He says that he’s got one left; by that same measure, I’ve got two. It’s interesting to consider the future with the perspective of fixed supply. Such knowledge would, I imagine, affect one’s behavior. It is difficult, however, to imagine exactly how. I’m reminded of a friend of a friend whose wife told him that he was allowed to cheat once and only once. Taking the proposition seriously, how painstaking would it be to decide upon “the one”? It would be far easier never to cheat at all… and maybe that was the point.

Of Jack Gilbert’s four published books, I’ve gotten my hands on and completed three. I’ve only got one left. With his age, I’m not sure he has any left. Suppose that he’ll be my favorite poet of all time. What then? I have, perhaps, 50 or 60 years to live. Can I live that long without discovering something better?

But the same can be said for movies or songs. My favorite movie is “Magnolia” and my favorite song is David Gray’s “Gathering Dust.” Suppose I feel the same way when I’m 80 years old? Maybe the best we can hope for is to find our best loves early in life and have them change along with us as we age.

Maybe Jack Gilbert will be the best poet I ever find. Maybe not. The good thing is that favorite poets, perhaps unlike the loves of our lives or marital freebies, are not in fixed supply.

And She Waiting

Always I have been afraid
Of this moment:
Of the return to love
With perspective.
I see these breasts
With the others.
I touch this mouth
And the others.
I command this heart
As the others.
I know exactly what to say.
Innocence has gone
Out of me.
The song.
The song, suddenly,
Has gone out
Of me.