Old Boy poem – A. Van Jordan poems

If one rainy night you find yourself
leaving a phone booth, and you meet a man
with a lavender umbrella, resist
your desire to follow him, to seek
shelter from the night in his solace.
Later, don’t fall victim to the Hypnotist’s
narcotic of clarity, which proves
a curare for the heart; her salve
is merely a bandage, under which memories
pulse. Resist the taste for something still
alive for your first meal; resist the craving
for the touch of a hand from your past.
We live some memories,
and some memories are planted. There’s
only so much space for the truth
and the fabrications to spread out
in one’s mind. When there’s no more
space, we grow desperate. You’ll ask
if practicing love for years in your mind,
prepares you for the moment,
if practicing to defend one’s life
is the same as living? You’ll
hole up, captive, in a hotel room
for fifteen years and learn to find
a man within you, which will prove
a painful introduction to the trance
into which you were born. Better
to stay under the spell of your guilt,
than to forget; you’ve already released
your pain onto the world; don’t believe
there’s some joy in forgetting.
There’s no joy in the struggle to forget.
And what appears as an endless verdant field,
only spreads across a building’s rooftop;
your peaceful sleep could be a fetal position,
which secures you in a suitcase in this field.
A bell rings, and you fall out of this luggage
like clothes you no longer fit. Now what to do?
You remember when you were the man
who fit those clothes, but you’ve forgotten this
world. Even forgotten scenes from your life,
leave shadows of the memory,
haunting your spirit
until, within a moment’s glance,
strangers passing you on the street,
observe history in your eyes. Experience
lingers through acts of forgetting,
small acts of love or trauma
falling from the same place. Whether
memory comes in the form of a stone
or a grain of sand, they both sink in water.
A tongue—even if it were, say, sworn
to secrecy; or if it were cut from one’s mouth;
yes, even without a mouth to envelop
its truth—the tongue continues to confess.

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Poems in English 

• Address To The Scholars Of The Village School Of — by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Address To Kilchurn Castle, Upon Loch Awe by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Address To A Child During A Boisterous Winter By My Sister by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• A Wren’s Nest by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• A Whirl-Blast From Behind The Hill by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• A Prophecy. February 1807 by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• A Night Thought by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• A Night-Piece by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• A Narrow Girdle Of Rough Stones And Crags, by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• A Flower Garden At Coleorton Hall, Leicestershire. by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• A Farewell by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• A Character by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Upon a Lady’s Fall Over a Stile, Gotten by Running From Her Love by William Wycherley by William Wycherley
• To his Indifferent Mistress by William Wycherley by William Wycherley
• The Poor Lover to His Rich Mistress about to Marry His Coxcombly Rival by William Wycherley by William Wycherley
• Sleep and Death by William Wycherley by William Wycherley
• On a Sea Fight, Which the Author was in, Betwixt the English and Dutch by William Wycherley by William Wycherley
• Love and Wine by William Wycherley by William Wycherley
• In Praise of Laziness by William Wycherley by William Wycherley
• Drinking-Song, A. To a Formal, Proud, Sober Coxcomb by William Wycherley by William Wycherley

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