Maybe they are in dropboxes? Each with a different, obviously forgotten password… Aha! All but the most important, the just-this-minute-finIshed one–that one is actually printed!
Where is it? Where did it go? Oh, I see it; there it is.
Here’s to the printed poem about the clamoring fish that actually exists in the visible world.
And Theodore Roethke, here’s to the inexorable sadness, as you say, of stamps and SASE’s….the accoutrements of poems we can easily see.
So I bring you this one-of-the-best-ever poems from grad school
and before–Roethke’s magnificent “Dolor”: What would Roethke say about the loneliness of the password no-one can be bothered to remember hiding god knows how many gorgeous love poems while their author is out catting around, writing new poems…
by Theodore Roethke
I have known the inexorable sadness of pencils,
Neat in their boxes, dolor of pad and paper weight,
All the misery of manilla folders and mucilage,
Desolation in immaculate public places,
Lonely reception room, lavatory, switchboard,
The unalterable pathos of basin and pitcher,
Ritual of multigraph, paper-clip, comma,
Endless duplication of lives and objects.
And I have seen dust from the walls of institutions,
Finer than flour, alive, more dangerous than silica,
Sift, almost invisible, through long afternoons of tedium,
Dropping a fine film on nails and delicate eyebrows,
Glazing the pale hair, the duplicate grey standard faces.