Ordinary Strangeness

I sprained my ankle last week jogging.  I thought it was time to get back in shape, but it wasn’t.  I tried to go into work, but by 9 am my foot was purple and swollen up like a hog’s hoof.  So we went to the doctor, x-rayed it, and got an air cast and some anti-inflammatory-medication.

Scottie talked me into staying home and laying on the couch.  I set myself up with a couple of books, the remote control, my iPod, some headphones, a glass of water, and a really good pain killer.  Scottie and the kids were to be out of the house at school and, later, gymnastics, so it would be alright if Daddy was laid out on the couch asleep with some big headphones on his head.

I thumbed through the channels, quickly understanding that daytime television isn’t targeted toward me.  So I turned it of and picked up one of my books, Raymond Carver’s collection of collected stories entitled All Of Us.  I’ve never really read his poems, but we really got into his short stories in high school english class.  I’ve wanted to spend some time getting into some poetry, and I found this on my bookshelf, something I bought a while back.  I cracked it open and started at the start.

Most people know Carver for his stories, and they are probably most familiar with the Robert Altman film Short Cuts that was based on them.  Carver would write a story 50 pages long, then edit it back to about 5 pages, so that every word contributed something relevant.  He lived a hard life:  he was born poor, fathered a child and married young, and worked odd jobs (at a sawmill, as a janitor, etc.) for more than a decade before he really began to be recognized for his writing. Carver was an alcoholic, and his best work started after he dried out.  Then he died early from lung cancer.

All of which should make for solid poetry.  Several of the works related to drinking and to recovery, while others revolve around fishing and living in the country.  In spite of an inherent minimalism, they are all accessible, at least in the sense that you don’t need a comprehensive understanding of Greek mythology to understand them. Some are even conversational. I made it through the first collection.  I believe it was the first collection of poems I’ve read cover-to-cover in one sitting.  What I enjoy about it is the directness of his language, which captures the essence of a thought or emotion or incident without any complex styling. Really a great read, maybe a little depressing, but that was probably the pain killers.

I have tried to find some work on the internet, and I found this on Random House’s website.  There were only 3 poems there, but this is a good one.  They said it’s okay to publish it as long as it promotes the book and is unaltered.  I’m not sure what you could change.

Fear of seeing a police car pull into the drive.
Fear of falling asleep at night.
Fear of not falling asleep.
Fear of the past rising up.
Fear of the present taking flight.
Fear of the telephone that rings in the dead of night.
Fear of electrical storms.
Fear of the cleaning woman who has a spot on her cheek!
Fear of dogs I’ve been told won’t bite.
Fear of anxiety!
Fear of having to identify the body of a dead friend.
Fear of running out of money.
Fear of having too much, though people will not believe this.
Fear of psychological profiles.
Fear of being late and fear of arriving before anyone else.
Fear of my children’s handwriting on envelopes.
Fear they’ll die before I do, and I’ll feel guilty.
Fear of having to live with my mother in her old age, and mine.
Fear of confusion.
Fear this day will end on an unhappy note.
Fear of waking up to find you gone.
Fear of not loving and fear of not loving enough.
Fear that what I love will prove lethal to those I love.
Fear of death.
Fear of living too long.
Fear of death.

I’ve said that.

–BL