Midnight Poetry: “To Himself”
To Himself
(Aaron Kramer)
Finally it will not matter
how many kicked, how many kissed him—
how many rooms there were, how many rumors—
how many poisons were offered, or prizes—
how many salvos, how many silences.
It will mean nothing, nothing at all
whether anthologies nested his poems—
whether a critic called them bright birds—
whether they soared across heaven-smooth pages—
whether slumberers leapt at the tune.
Nothing will matter, nothing at all
except that his heart maintained its own beat,
his face its own hue, his foot its own thud,
his night its own vision, his soul its won heat,
his hand its own touch, his tongue its own word.
This will be all, on the day of days.
But meanwhile, what is a man to do—
a man, like everyone, flesh and blood?
How many times can he say to himself:
Hush, fool, hush! it will not matter,
not matter at all, not matter at all….
(Read more of Aaron Kramer’s poetry here)
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AuthorScoop
January 30th, 2009 at 10:49 am
I love this poem.
this is fantastic:
Nothing will matter, nothing at all
except that his heart maintained its own beat,
his face its own hue, his foot its own thud,
his night its own vision, his soul its won heat,
his hand its own touch, his tongue its own word.
Thanks, this was a great read.
January 30th, 2009 at 10:55 am
it’s my favorite of his. like a beautiful punch in the stomach.
January 31st, 2009 at 11:52 am
Oh yes. You two are right. That is wonderful.