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 

• Groupie poem – Ysabelle Moriarty poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Glacier poem – Yuyutsu Sharma poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Ghouls parade poem – Brako Attafua poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Ghouls’ Parade poem – Brako Attafua poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Gazel poem – Yahya Kemal Beyatli poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Fantasy poem – Ysabelle Moriarty poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Drying Clothes poem – Yang Wan-Li poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Destiny poem – Zubair Ahmad Parray poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Bloodstains from Iraq poem – Yuyutsu Sharma poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Autumn poem – Ysabelle Moriarty poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Adieu poem – Yuvraj Johri poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• About Troy poem – Zbigniew Herbert poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• A Faery’s Lament poem – Ysabelle Moriarty poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• A Visit to Yu’s Cave poem – Yang Wan-Li poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• A Knocker poem – Zbigniew Herbert poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• A Ballad That We Do Not Perish poem – Zbigniew Herbert poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• One Night, The Fukien Robbers poem – Yang Wan-Li poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• O My Lord, Your Dwelling Places Are Lovely poem – Yehudah ha-Levi poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• Not Speaking Of The Way poem – Yosano Akiko poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File
• My Sweet Lad You Have Not Been Lost poem – Yiannis Ritsos poems | Poetry Monster by Anglo File

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