A Short Series Addressed to Whatever is Most AuthenticCraig Morgan Teicher
1 This poem is not addressed to your ghost. 2 All I want is to be so earnest that my voice shines like a coin thrown into a fountain in the sunlight. I want, for once, to be brave enough to tell my wish. 3 This is one in a long series of missives to anyone. I never use the word "missive." I've never used it before because it seems like a fancy way of saying something that could be said another, simpler, way. I want to be heard in that simpler way. 4 Walt Whitman, this poem is not addressed to your ghost. 4 Nor to the immortal ghosts of your poems is this poem addressed. 5 We've gone beyond post-modern practice into an age when television and poetry share an audience, as does everything and everything else which is good and scary: it's hard now to erect a private space in the mind —in my mind— yet, even with all the company —the Internet, books, TV, lots of friends— there is still no cure for lonely, which is, after all, what makes us human: no matter what and how much we make, there is still only one person in attendance, one person sitting before the big screen, only one of us fumbling about in the dark hoping the popcorn is real. 6 This poem is not addressed to Theodore Roethke, and why should it be? 7 Now this poem is really underway. 8 If I were truly contemporary, I would have stopped there, or there, with the word "there."
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