James Joyce Singing |
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Like his wife, I can only understand him when he sings. But when he speaks, that is when I understand myself. “Nora,” I said, “you must be more forgiving of your old man. He has imagined his death ten thousand times, But dying now is no easier than it was in the beginning. If you don’t believe me, try it yourself.” She took me literally — quite decidedly so. I tendered an apology while her husband sang on. This city is so dark, so dirty, boats line the shore Waiting for coffins full of piano keys. If the singing stops, So will everything else, except for killing and commerce, Which go about spitting like cheerful, illiterate cousins. Another glass was offered. I accepted as I always do, Paid gladly with a curse, toasted the hole in my pocket, Whispered a prayer for my mother, buried the memory Of my father, sailed across the ocean to America, And found my brother at the graveside of his taken bride — Spent she was, had coughed up the bloody lung. Sunny Jim sang on. “I belong here,” he said, “not one bit More than you.” And do you know, it were every word As true as if we had both been left for dead. Two children There be, one a small-year-old, a son, and a little daughter Still finding her way down from the misty mountain. That’s how my brother explained his grief. “Of sorrow I’ve had my fill,” said he, and I helped him Up to his knees. His poor coat was all with mud, His shirt pocket lacked tobacco. I gave his boy a lump Of bread and a swallow from my glass. Said, “Sit beside me, lad, ’til your father’s said good-bye.” When he heard Jim singing, he looked him in the eye. Then Nora came around. “He is not himself this evening. Lord, I’m afraid he’ll write another book” — spoken as if he The man were got with child, and she the woman were defiled. “Go down to the grave,” sang Sunny Jim, “go ye down,” As dear sweet Nora sadly wrung her hands. But the lad, oh, the motherless lad, he was smiling. April 5, 2005 Previous Entry Next Entry Return to Songs and Letters About the Author |
Also by William Michaelian POETRY Winter Poems ISBN: 978-0-9796599-0-4 52 pages. Paper. —————————— Another Song I Know ISBN: 978-0-9796599-1-1 80 pages. Paper. —————————— Cosmopsis Books San Francisco Signed copies available Main Page Author’s Note Background Notebook A Listening Thing Among the Living No Time to Cut My Hair One Hand Clapping Songs and Letters Collected Poems Early Short Stories Armenian Translations Cosmopsis Print Editions Interviews News and Reviews Highly Recommended Let’s Eat Favorite Books & Authors Useless Information Conversation E-mail & Parting Thoughts Flippantly Answered Questions | |
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