24
You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves
you, but he loves you. And you feel like you've done something terr-
ible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself
a grave in the dirt, and you're tired. You're in a car with a beautiful boy,
and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to
choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and
he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your
heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you
don't even have a name for.

-The last stanza in You Are Jeff by Richard Siken. I've talked about him before, but I'm just the sort who fixates. His poems inspired a lot my writing this year, and I'm sure if you read his book you'd see how unoriginal I can be (but still not plagiarizing. I bet). He just kills me and I can't wait for his next book.

I have such a tenuous relationship with poetry. I can't write it and I'm very picky about other people's. And sometimes I have odd taste. When I was 10 I read this poem in a YA novel and fell in love.

Dirge Without Music

Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.

So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:

Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned

With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.

Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.

A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,

A formula, a phrase remains, --- but the best is lost.

The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,

They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled

Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.

More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave

Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;

Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.

I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

Like, wow. I think I read that aloud in my 4th grade class. Later, I found a really old (I mean like 1920s) copy of a Wordsworth collection that belonged to my grandmother. I hate him now, and I probably did then too, but I loved going "Mooooommmmm, how can you NOT get what the moon symbolizes????"

Now I like Marty McConnell, Frank and Mr. Siken, plus a few Emerson poets. That's it.

I'm feeling sad tonight and I don't know why. So I guess I'll read more poems. It's like this commenter said, "even though this sounds a bit emotional and silly..i’ve been on the verge of tears all day and this finally opened me up. It’s beautiful. Thank you Richard Siken."