Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Poem by John Berryman

The first time I read John Berryman I was impressed with his sense of humor and with the self-deprecation in his confessional poetry. I thought, "What a great outlook he has on life." Then I learned he had killed himself. He jumped off the Washington Street Bridge in Minneapolis. Into the Mississippi River. (I always imagine people who jump from bridges regret it mightily on the way down.) It was jarring news, jarring in a way such news rarely is for me. Usually, news of the death of a famous stranger doesn't move me much. And in this case I'd come to Berryman late, so the death was decades old. But it was the nature of it, I guess, the contrast between the despair in the act and what I'd interpreted as his healthy confrontation with his demons in the poetry. Berryman was an alcoholic. Eventually I read his novel, Recovery, about being in rehab, and I got a sense of the hopelessness, loss and pain he must have felt, and perhaps the powerlessness over his condition. I also read his joyful and singular books on Shakespeare and Stephen Crane, and more and more of his poetry, all the time thinking about how prolific he was, in act and mind, despite the pain he must have been in. What can I say about this poem but that I love its tone.


A Prayer After All
Father, Father, I am overwhelmed.
I cannot speak tonight.
Do you receive me back into Your sight?
It seems it must be so, for

strangely the Virgin came into my mind
as I stood beside my bed --
whom I not only have not worshipped
since childhood, but also

harsh words have said of, that she pushed her Son
before his time as come
which he rebuked her for, and leaving home
repudiated hers &her --

and for no reason, standing in the dark
before I had knelt down
(as is my custom) to speak with You, I found
my tongue feeling its way

thro' the Hail Mary, trying phrase by phrase
its strangeness, for the unwelcome
to my far mind estranged, awaiting some
unacceptable sense, and

Father I was amazed I could find none
and I have walked downstairs
to sit and wonder. You must have been Theirs
all these years, &They Yours,

and now I suppose I have prayed to You after all
and Her and I suppose she is the Queen of Heaven
under your greater glory, even
more incomprehensible but forgiving glory.

1 comment:

  1. Broken Bridges in the Dead of Winter

    Did John Berryman complete his journey?
    Was this only the door of his traverse?
    Had he said too much already?
    I only wish that we’d conversed

    My intentions may not have mattered
    But maybe something…could have clicked
    I would have gladly played his puppet
    If I knew it would have done the trick

    I know I would have said something stupid
    But maybe something accidentally smart
    Something to divert John away once more
    from the broken bridges in his broken heart

    Bryan Atneosen © July 13th 2012

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