Preterition

Long day and a tired evening. The moon’s out and bright without a cloud in the sky tonight. I’m reading poetry, putting off writing a letter to my brother, listening to Karajan conducting the Berlin Philharmonic playing Sibelius. I had an idea for something new and original I was going to work on tonight, something goofy and high-concept, like an office comedy about temping for lobbying organizations in D.C. (yes, based on some of my own experiences) filtered through Lovecraft’s Cthulhu mythos (I said it was goofy, OK, and it’s been a long week and I’ve been feeling like my brain needs some candy), but I don’t have the energy. Put in on the shelf and save it for another time, I suppose.

Here’s some Mark Strand instead. I’ve got maples out back, too, and I think it’s a fine goodnight poem for tonight’s sort of night.

Sleeping with One Eye Open

Unmoved by what the wind does, The windows Are not rattled, nor do the various Areas Of the house make their usual racket – Creak at The joints, trusses and studs. Instead, They are still. And the maples, Able At times to raise havoc, Evoke Not a sound from their branches Clutches. It’s my night to be rattled, Saddled With spooks. Even the half-moon (Half man, Half dark), on the horizon, Lies on Its side casting a fishy light Which alights On my floor, lavishly lording Its morbid Look over me. Oh, I feel dead, Folded Away in my blankets for good, and Forgotten. My room is clammy and cold, Moonhandled And weird. The shivers Wash over Me, shaking my bones, my loose ends Loosen, And I lie sleeping with one eye open, Hoping That nothing, nothing will happen.

(Selected Poems. Knopf, 1996.)