from 180 More:
One of the few pleasures of writing
is the thought of one's book in the hands of a kind-hearted
intelligent person somewhere. I can't remember what the others are right now.
I just noticed that it is my own private
National I Hate Myself and Want to Die Day
(which means the next day I will love my life
and want to live forever). The forecast calls
for a cold night in Boston all morning
and all afternoon. They say
tomorrow will be just like today
only different. I'm in the cemetery now
at the edge of town, how did I get here?
A sparrow limps past on it's little bone crutch saying
I am Frederico Garcia Lorca
risen from the dead --
literature will lose, sunlight will win, don't worry.
--Franz Wright (originally appeared in Field)
I loved Wright's Walking to Martha's Vineyard, with all its deep seriousness, its hope and loss of hope, its faith and loss of faith. This poem seems to inject a little more humor into the situation.