Friday, October 12, 2007

if this were funnier, it would be a poem about us.

I love this poem. It reminded me of ya'll.

The Broken, WS Merwin

The spiders started out to go with the wind on its pilgrimage. At that time they were honored among the invisibles--more sensitive than glass, lighter than water, purer than ice. Even the lightning spoke well of them, and it seemed as though they could go anywhere. But as they were traveling between cold and heat, cracks appeared in them, appeared in their limbs, and they stopped, it seemed they had to stop, had to leave the company of the wind for a while and stay in one place until they got better, moving carefully, hiding, trusting to nothing. It was not long before they gave up trying to become whole again, and instead undertook to mend the air. Neither life nor death, they said, would slip through it any more.

After that they were numbered among the dust--makers of ghosts.

The wind never missed them. There were still the clouds.

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I wish WS Merwin were funnier sometimes. He is never funny. This is my terrible rewrite, entitled:

The Busted-Hearted

The literati started to go out with Wayne on his pilgrimage. At that time they were honored among the brilliant--prettier than Alan, smarter than Tao, trampier than Miranda. Even DeLillo spoke jealously of them, and it seemed as though they could go anywhere, even to the mall with Wayne where they would buy turtlenecks as awesome as his. But as they were traveling between office and mall, sadness appeared in them, appeared in their limbs, and they stopped, it seemed they had to stop, had to leave the company of Wayne for a while and stay in one place until they got happy and famous, moving clumsily, drinking, moving clumsily. It was not long before they gave up on trying to become famous and/or Wayne, and instead undertook to become Dr. Manhattan for Halloween. Neither life nor death, they said, would slip through them anymore. After that they crushed everyone to dust--makers of bloody piles of stupid people. Wayne so missed them. But there was no more Don DeLillo.