Log in

No account? Create an account
01 April 2011 @ 09:47 am
Poetry: "Robinson," by Weldon Kees  
The dog stops barking after Robinson has gone.
His act is over. The world is a gray world,
Not without violence, and he kicks under the grand piano,
The nightmare chase well under way.

The mirror from Mexico, stuck to the wall,
Reflects nothing at all. The glass is black.
Robinson alone provides the image Robinsonian.

Which is all of the room—walls, curtains,
Shelves, bed, the tinted photograph of Robinson's first wife,
Rugs, vases, panatelas in a humidor.
They would fill the room if Robinson came in.

The pages in the books are blank,
The books that Robinson has read. That is his favorite chair,
Or where the chair would be if Robinson were here.

All day the phone rings. It could be Robinson
Calling. It never rings when he is here.

Outside, white buildings yellow in the sun.
Outside, the birds circle continuously
Where trees are actual and take no holiday.

Weldon Kees

Notes: A friend introduced me to Kees in college. I've always loved the sense of surrealistic absurdity in this poem.

the key of the day and the lock of the night: teacakeslocknkey on April 2nd, 2011 01:11 am (UTC)
I liked that line too. :)

I love April because I get to read a lot of poetry I haven't seen before. :)