Poem #13 for Poetry Month -- "Life Story"
Apr. 19th, 2011 05:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nightdog_barksToday's poem is from the American playwright Tennessee Williams (1911 - 1983). As another wise poet once said, "It's all about the fire in your life."
Life Story
After you've been to bed together for the first time,
without the advantage or disadvantage of any prior acquaintance,
the other party very often says to you,
Tell me about yourself, I want to know all about you,
what's your story? And you think maybe they really and truly do
sincerely want to know your life story, and so you light up
a cigarette and begin to tell it to them, the two of you
lying together in completely relaxed positions
like a pair of rag dolls a bored child dropped on a bed.
You tell them your story, or as much of your story
as time or a fair degree of prudence allows, and they say,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, until the oh
is just an audible breath, and then of course
there's some interruption. Slow room service comes up
with a bowl of melting ice cubes, or one of you rises to pee
and gaze at himself with the mild astonishment in the bathroom mirror.
And then, the first thing you know, before you've had time
to pick up where you left off with your enthralling life story,
they're telling you their life story, exactly as they'd intended to all along,
and you're saying, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, the vowel at last becoming
no more than an audible sigh,
as the elevator, halfway down the corridor and a turn to the left,
draws one last, long, deep breath of exhaustion
and stops breathing forever. Then?
Well, one of you falls asleep
and the other one does likewise with a lighted cigarette in his mouth,
and that's how people burn to death in hotel rooms.
~ Tennessee Williams
From The Collected Poems of Tennessee Williams, New Directions Publishing Corp., 2007
Online source here.
Life Story
After you've been to bed together for the first time,
without the advantage or disadvantage of any prior acquaintance,
the other party very often says to you,
Tell me about yourself, I want to know all about you,
what's your story? And you think maybe they really and truly do
sincerely want to know your life story, and so you light up
a cigarette and begin to tell it to them, the two of you
lying together in completely relaxed positions
like a pair of rag dolls a bored child dropped on a bed.
You tell them your story, or as much of your story
as time or a fair degree of prudence allows, and they say,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, until the oh
is just an audible breath, and then of course
there's some interruption. Slow room service comes up
with a bowl of melting ice cubes, or one of you rises to pee
and gaze at himself with the mild astonishment in the bathroom mirror.
And then, the first thing you know, before you've had time
to pick up where you left off with your enthralling life story,
they're telling you their life story, exactly as they'd intended to all along,
and you're saying, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, the vowel at last becoming
no more than an audible sigh,
as the elevator, halfway down the corridor and a turn to the left,
draws one last, long, deep breath of exhaustion
and stops breathing forever. Then?
Well, one of you falls asleep
and the other one does likewise with a lighted cigarette in his mouth,
and that's how people burn to death in hotel rooms.
~ Tennessee Williams
From The Collected Poems of Tennessee Williams, New Directions Publishing Corp., 2007
Online source here.
no subject
Date: 2011-04-20 01:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-20 04:41 am (UTC):-)
no subject
Date: 2011-04-20 01:34 am (UTC)Oh, nightdog, thank you!!
The ending caught me completely off guard
in my current funk, making me laugh out loud.
Thanks, I needed that! =•]
no subject
Date: 2011-04-20 04:42 am (UTC):-D
no subject
Date: 2011-04-20 01:13 pm (UTC)and have this poem still be worth reading. =•}
no subject
Date: 2011-04-20 07:53 am (UTC)The last line reminded me painfully of another great poet, Ingeborg Bachmann - who died that way, but alone.
no subject
Date: 2011-04-20 11:31 pm (UTC)And it reminds me of The Ballad of Forty Dollars by Tom T. Hall. Are you familiar?
Ballad of Forty Dollars
Date: 2011-04-20 11:43 pm (UTC)He laid down to rest one afternoon
and never opened up his eyes
They hired me and Fred and Joe
to dig the grave and carry up some chairs
It took us seven hours and I guess we must have drunk a case of beer.
I guess I ought to go and watch them put him down
but I don't own a suit
And anyway when they start talkin' about the fire in Hell,
well, I get spooked
So I'll just sit here in my truck
and act like I don't know 'im when they pass
Anyway, when they're all through
I've got to go to work and mow the grass.
Well, here they come and who's that ridin'
in that big ol' shiny limousine
Mm, look at all that chrome, I do believe
that that's the sharpest thing I've seen
That must belong to his great uncle
Someone said he owned a big ol' farm
When they get parked I'll mosey down
and look it over, that won't do no harm.
Well, that must be the widow in the car
and would you take a look at that
That sure is a pretty dress
you know some women do look good in black
Well, he's not even in the ground
and they say that his truck is up for sale
They say she took it pretty hard
but you can't tell too much behind a veil.
Well, listen ain't that pretty
when the bugler plays the military Taps
I think that when you's in the war
they always hire, and play a song like that
Well, here I am and there they go
and I guess you'd just call it my bad luck
I hope he rests in peace; the trouble is
the fellow owes me forty bucks.
Re: Ballad of Forty Dollars
Date: 2011-04-21 12:30 am (UTC)I like it. :-)
Re: Ballad of Forty Dollars
Date: 2011-04-21 12:32 am (UTC)The only danger: it will play on endless repeat in your brain every time you have to mow the lawn.
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