American Poetry Now: Pitt Poetry Series Anthology

Dean Young

 4 dean young DeanYounghaspublishedseveralbooksof poetry,includinghis00 collection,ElegyonToyPiano,afinalistforthePulitzerPrizeinPoetry.His collectionSkidwasafinalistfortheLenoreMarshallPrize.Younghas receivedtwoNationalEndowmentfortheArtsfellowshipsaswellasa GuggenheimFellowship.HeteachesatTheWriters’Workshopatthe Universityof IowaandintheWarrenWilsonLowResidencyProgram.  4 dean young Chapped Lips Theproblemwithchildhood isit’swastedonchildren. Lookatthemallstrungtogether notbeingrunoverbythebus. They’renotneatlyscaredenough. Justlookhowtheycolor, theythinkthey’llbeMatissesforever. Theythinkyoucanjustgetupinthemorning andputonvelvetshoes.Andthey’resmall, if theywereanysmalleryoucouldstickthem totheceilinglikefliesbutno, theykeeploftingbackdown likedefeatedballoons butwhatdotheyknowof defeat? Whatdotheyknowof thebrokenbathysphere? Intheirlittlemittensandhats, trulytheylookabsorbent, butjusttryusingonetowipeupaspill andtherearesomanyspills: spillsthatmakeduckssick, spillsthatdissolverailroads, spillswedon’tevenknowwhatthey’redoing butthey’resuredoingit. Tryexplainingthattoachild andallyougetislalala. Trygettingonetositforanhour withherfaceinherhands. Theyhavealmostnothingtoremember sowhattheyforgivecouldbeforgiven byanyone.Theydon’tpaytaxes. They’recompletelydevoidof pubichair.  4 dean young Dog Toy Master,howcanImakeamilliondollars? Cherryblossomsshakeintherain. Haveyoutrieddecorativeswitchcovers? Yes,buttheprocesswastooexpensive withmuchbreakage.Moon-dabbed bushclover.Haveyoutriedadogtoy madefromtwotennisballsunited byashortlengthof rappelingrope? Sothenovicegoesoff anddoesthis verycheaplyandsells,oooinaweek at00%abovecostthenPurinaDogChow offerstobuyhimoutforamill. Butstill,aseveningcollapses upontheorangeadedrinkerscarousing theboutiques,heputshishanddown histhroattotouchhisownheart anditstings.Amillionisn’t allthatmuch.Sohegoesbackup tothehutonthemountainandasks, Isitthelioninthecaveor thelioncomingout,roaring? Neitherinnorout,whatisthat? suggeststheMaster.Butisn’tthere somethingmore,pleadsthenovice. Haveyoutriedlove?tauntstheMaster. SothenovicegoesbacktoBerkeley andeatscrabwithanundergraduate whomakeshimfeelindangerbut alsovolcanic,thecrabcrackslikefire, herbreastsshineliketheseaglimpsed throughabrokenwallbuthe’safraid shewon’tleaveandatthesametime afraidshewon’tstayandshekeepssaying shewantstobeanaromatherapistso thenovicedecideshemustquitthisworld andgiveeverythingheownstoagroup protectingthecoyote.Therearetwokinds  4 dean young of peopleandtherightonesthinkit’sokay if acoyoteeatstheoccasionalchihuahua. SothenovicereturnsandsaysIhavedone everythingyousaid.Whatthings?explains theMaster.Thereisnodoing,nonotdoing. Notwokindof people.Thereisonlythefluid thatdripsfromthedragon’smouth. Butwhatabouttheeffectof glucosamine onsynovialjoints?Peopleactuallysay theyfeelbetter.WhataboutBeethoven’s deafness,cunnilingus,whatisthebestway tocookfish?Coverwithwaxpaperandmarinate fortwohoursthensauterapidlyinhot oliveoil.Doyouhaveanysparechange? proposestheMaster.Butwhatabout walkingintherainandbeingmiserable, whataboutbeinghappywithnothing, howthecloudsthatarenothingcompletely consumethemountain?Andtheygoonlikethis foryears,learningnothing,sleepinglate, gettingdrunkuntiltheMasterdies likesnowmeltingfromafence.So thenovicewritesabookcalledDogToy thatbecomesabestsellerthenhegoes onatalkshowwithsomeonewhofell fromanairplaneandsurvivedand someoneelsewhohadbeenstruck bylightningmanytimesandsurvived andawomanwhohadexhaustedall conventionaltreatmentbutwhen allhopeseemedgone, shejuststartedconcentrating anddrinkingalotof water untilshewascompletelyhealed andabletomovepaperclipswithout eventouchingthem.Whatareyou waitingfor?You’vealready beengivenyourfreegift.  4 dean young Sources of the Delaware Iloveyouhesaidbutsayingittooktwentyyears soitwaslikelisteningtomountainsgrow. Iloveyoushesaysfiftytimesintoaballoon thenreleasestheballoonintoaroom whosevolumeshecalculatedtofit thebreathitwouldtaketoread thecompleteworksof CharlotteBrontëaloud. Someoneelsepoursgreendustintotheentryway andputsricepaperonthefloor.Thedoor ispaintedblack.Ontheclothesline shirttailssnapabovetheberserkdaffodils. Hoaglandsaysyou’vegottoplungethesword intothechargingbull.You’vegot tosewyourself intoasuitof light. Forthevacuumtube,it’seasy, justheatthemetaltoincandescence andallthatdarkenergybecomesaradiance. Akindof hatching,syntacticandlullof buzz. Nocontraindications,nolawsforbidding buyingginonSundays.Noif you’repregnant, if you’reoperatingheavymachinerybecause whoisn’ttowingthescuttledtonnage of someself?Sometimesjustrubbing herfeetisenough.Justputtingout anewcakeof soap.Sure,thecontents areunderpressureandeveryoneknows thatlaststepwasneverintendedtobear anyweightbutisn’tthatwhywe’restandingthere? Ripplesinherhair,Iloveyoushehollers overthepropellers.Yellowscarf inmist. WhenIplantedallthosedaffodils, Ididn’tknowIwasplantingthem inmyownchestPlayirretrievably withthelidclosed,Satiewroteonthescore. ButHoaglandsayshe’ssickof opening thedooreachmorningnotondiamonds butpilesof coal,andhe’ssickof being  4 dean young responsiblefortheeonsof pressureneeded andtheseaissickof beingresponsible fortherain,andtheriverissickof thesea. Sothepeoplewhoneedtheriver tofloatwastetoNewJersey throwinantidepressants.Sotheriver isstillsickbutnervousnowtoo, itslegskeepthrashingoutinvoluntarily, floodinggoingconcerns,keepingthepresident awake.Sothepeoplethrowinbeta-blockers tomakeitsleepwhichitdoes,sortof, dreamingit’sasnakeagainbutthistime withfiftyheadsbelchingammonia whichisnothinglikethedreamsitoncehad of childrensplashingintheblueof itseyes. Sothepresidentgetsontheairways withpositivevectorsandvows togiveeverychildacomputer butallthistime,behindthepodium, hispenisisshouting,Putmein,Coach, Icanbetheriver!SoIloveyousay theflashbulbsbutthenthecaptions saysomethingelse.Iloveyousays thehammertothenail.IloveTamescha someonespraysacrosstheForSalesign. SoItellHoaglandit’safucked-upruined worldinsuchpalatialdetail,he’sstuck forhoursonthephone.Lookatthosecrows, theythinkthey’reinonthejokeand theydon’tloveathing.Theythink theyhavetobethatblacktokeep alltheirradianceinside.Iloveyou themansaysashismotherdies sonownothingtieshimtotheearth, notfistialsof dirt,notthesillysongs herememberssingingasachild. IloveyouIsaymeaninglendmetwentybucks.  4 dean young Lives of the Olympians Herecomethegymnasts,berserk wind-uptoysonlyapashacouldafford, theirparentsinthestandslikeill-risen breadandusuallysomeconnectionto ahorribledisease.Help,Ican’tstop shrinking,Ican’tbreathebutyearslater, watchmeback-flippingathighspeed. Surelytheancientsintendedthem toperformnaked.Orbetteryet, theirleotardsflyoff astheycatapult. Yahee!PutmeontheOlympicCommittee! Definitelytheyshouldn’tbeallowedin untiltheyreachtheageof consent. Imeanallthesetinychildrenshooting alloverthe*##@&$%!!place—it’s abitmuchanddoestherestof life havetobeanticlimacticafter? Nowherecometheswimmerslikeengineered livestockyouwouldn’twanttoeattheeggsof. Whyisn’tthereaneventwherewesee whocanswallowthemostpoolwater? Whataboutputtingthingsupyournose? Justsittinginachair?Isn’titobvious howdifficultthatis,howlousy mostpeopleareatit?Ionceknew aguywhoexcelledatbreakingstuff againsthishead.Noonegavehimamedal. Heprobablywouldn’thavebeensuchadrunk loserif someonehad.Poor,misshapen bloke,hehadabsolutelyzeropointzero chanceof achievinghisdreamwhichwas, hethoughthetoldnoone, todanceacreditabletango.  4 dean young Lives of the Robots Greenfluiddroolsfrommyshoulder. Ican’tcarrythetrayI’msupposedto andyouknowwhattheydotobroken robots,don’tyou?Theypoptheirheads. Theyyankouttheiruraniumandbelts. Theydonatepartstoartschoolsso bug-brainedsculptorscanspot-weld awfulstupidthingslefttorust inthebackyardsof houseswhereonly artstudentshavelivedsolong, thehouseshaveforgotteneverything butthedrunknamesnickedinto theirhardwood.Thestarsoversuchhouses don’tbother.Acrowmadeof thehusks of crows,policecruisers’mechanical finsflickingoutof thedark.Yousleep onrubbersheetsbecausebiggenitalia keepcomingtogetyou,grasshoppers clingingtothescreensliketransmitters, youcanheartheowlslyingtoyou, thebrakefactoryreleasinggreensteam, thebeautifulrhetoricpouringfrom theconquerors’porcelainmouths. Theyliedtoyouaboutwhattheyknew andtheyliedtoyouaboutwhattheydidn’t. Theytoldyoutoputdownyoursword andwelcomedyouintothecity.Theysaid you’dgetusedtothesubterraneandin, thechalkyresidue,suspiciousmeats, suspiciousglues.Andwhenwhattheytoldyou youwantedyougotandstoppedwanting? Andwhattheytoldyouyouneeded youdidn’twanttoneed?Which of theswallowedpoisonsdoyoutry tobringbackup,whichbestleft topassthrough?There’sthetruth-sounding 0 4 dean young lieandtheliethatmakesnosound, droppedtodepthsunilluminable. Myfatherliedtomeaboutthereward. Mymotherliedtomeformyowngood. AtleastturnmeoversoIcanseethesky. ...