Nov
20
Master of Disguises
Filed Under Poegles | Leave a Comment
When the editors of Poegles were much younger men, their interest in poetry was first piqued by the incomparable work of Charles Simic. Of course, any resemblance now between the themes and sensibilities of the Poegles collection and those of Mr. Simic’s work, however impoverished the former might appear by comparison, is purely coincidence.
Mr. Simic has a terrific new poem in this week’s New Yorker, and I have no doubt that our esteemed colleagues there would not mind us reprinting the verse here:
Surely he walks among us unrecognized:
Some barber, store clerk, delivery man,
Pharmacist, hairdresser, bodybuilder,
Exotic dancer, gem cutter, dog walker,
The blind beggar singing, Oh Lord, remember me,
Some window decorator starting a fake fire
In a fake fireplace while mother and father watch
From the couch with their frozen smiles
As the street empties and the time comes
For the undertaker and the last waiter to head home.
O homeless old man, standing in a doorway
With your face half hidden,
I wouldn’t even rule out the black cat crossing the street,
The bare light bulb swinging on a wire
In a subway tunnel as the train comes to a stop.