1.17.2009

frank bidart, or my new obsession.

I went to see Frank Bidart read last week. When he read this poem, I could feel my chest tightening like it does when I read Faulkner or when I know that I have just had a small encounter with a work that knows my own condition better than I ever could.

It is called "Valentine" and here is a portion of it:


How those now dead used the word love bewildered
and disgusted the boy who resolved he

would not reassure the world he felt
love until he understood love

Resolve that too soon crumbled when he found
within his chest

something intolerable for which the word
because no other word was right

must be love
must be love

Love craved and despised and necessary
the Great American Songbook said explained our fate

my bereft grandmother bereft
father bereft mother their wild regret

How those now dead used love to explain
wild regret

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