Employing a tactic I’m pretty sure I’ve picked up from the current presidential administration, I’ve decided to take a new approach to truth. Namely, I’m going to make it up. And make it up in such a way that justifies every decision I decide(r), and in such a way that makes me feel better about my life, and the enveloping society thereof.
So here goes: Everyone is reading.
And because everyone is reading, there is a high demand for poetry.
And because there is a high demand for poetry, once a week, possibly on Mondays, but certainly not limited to Mondays, I’m going to try really hard to post a Poem Worth Reading on this blog.
I know I know I know, this is supposed to be a blog about books, and probably shouldn’t contain any actual literature, unless it’s hyperlinked. Nevertheless, poems are great. They’re (often) short, and powerful, and sometimes they even rhyme, which makes you feel happy for reasons you probably can’t define very well. And people should read more of them. More, even, than they already are. Which is lots. Because everybody is reading. Obviously.
Oh yeah, I’m probably not allowed to print some of these unless it’s part of a review, and the excerpted text is part of the criticism. So, this week’s Poem Worth Reading is by James Tate, from his collection The Ghost Soldiers, which came out earlier this month. The collection is really, really good. (Like, really good.) He does things with words. The pages are immaculate. The typeface is crisp. Buy it, and so on.
And then read it. Everyone else is. There are panda bears involved. Promise. (And yes, despite the prose form, it is a poem. I’m pretty sure.)
“Terminix”
I sat in my study working on some problems. They are far beyond my comprehension, so I just move figures around, making columns look real neat, clipping off loose ends. I have almost hypnotized myself; in fact, I’m downright drowsy. Why I haven’t been fired I’ll never know. Everything about this job baffles and annoys me. Mr. Haggerty thinks I’m a genius, that I’m somehow beyond the everyday mundane workings of the business. I let him think that. Why not? It provides cover for my incomprehension. Kerry is Mr. Haggerty’s private secretary. She’s not supposed to talk to us. But one day I was alone with her in the office and I said, “Kerry, I don’t even know what we’re doing here. Surely you know something. Can you give me a hint?” “We’re not supposed to know, Mr. Seymour. It’s all set up so you can do your job without knowing. You’re supposed to enjoy the mystery of it. I know I do. It’s very satisfying to me at the end of the day to know I’ve helped out without knowing anything. You have so much less baggage to carry home with you,” she said. “Does it have anything to do with panda bears?” I said. “She laughed. “Not that I know of. Why do you ask?” she said. “I thought I was a very large order for bamboo plants one day and it just entered my mind that some pandas might be involved. Just grasping for straws I guess,” I said. “Frankly, I always assumed it was something more in the line of missiles,” she said. “I guess it’s best not to know. Missiles would just depress me,” I said. “I shouldn’t be talking to you, you know. I could get into an awful lot of trouble,” she said. “You’re very nice, Kerry. I promise I won’t say a word,” I said. After Mr. Haggerty came back, he came to my office. “What did you and Kerry talk about while I was gone?” he demanded. “We didn’t talk, sir,” I said. “Yes, you did. I could see it on her face. She’s no good at lying. What did you talk about?” he said. “We talked about panda bears, sir,” I said. “Panda bears? Why in the world would you talk about panda bears?” he said. “Well, I’m very fond of them and I asked her if she was, too. That’s all, sir. Very innocent, as you can see,” I said. “I’m not so sure about that. I suspect you’ve broken a code and it could cost us millions of dollars, not that you’re not worth it, but I advise you to stop snooping around if you know what’s good for yourself,” he said, and left my office. I didn’t know anything about codes or breaking codes. I took a briefcaseful of files home that night. I moved figures around, straightened out columns until slowly it was beginning to dawn on my that we were in charge of the whole world, who would die and who would live, who would move here and who would move there, who would starve and who would have plenty to eat, and which wars would be fought and who would win. I felt sick, nauseous, and I threw up. I was cold, shivering, so I crawled in bed and pulled the covers up. I fell asleep and dreamed I was a nematode eating the roots of a beautiful flower. When I woke I was late. I dressed and rushed to work without shaving or bathing. Mr. Haggerty came into my office shortly after I arrived. “Looks like you had a rough night. Out with the boys, no doubt. Well, I just wanted to straighten you out on one thing: the panda isn’t a bear at all. It’s a member of the raccoon family. Isn’t that a kicker? Oh, and I realized you didn’t crack any codes, so you’re not going to cost us any money. Our operation will go on as before, completely in the dark, run by helpless innocents, doing our good deeds for the public weal,” he said. “But I know everything,” I said. “Impossible! There is nothing to know,” he said.
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