I was in Princeton of all
Places. My ninth grade class
Was there on a field trip: the usual
Shephaerding from edifice
To edifice-a lot of gray
Stone-winding up, though,
With something a little out of the way;
The opportunity to view
A classic three-acter
At the U's own theater.
The Play I don;t remember much
About: your basis exercise
In wigs and bodices and such.
The memorable thing was
The curtain call. How the one
Coming out was a grim guy
In tweed and tie. How the lone
Lifting of his palm by
Itself extinguished the applause.
How he had "terrible news"-
But not the news I feared. Not
Where to go. Not how
To get there. Now what
To do when you got there-go
Sit against a wall, put
Your head down, clasp your hands
Behind your head, you might shut
Your eyes in case the world ends-
None of that. Maybe he
Was finding it decidedly.
Hard to get the words out,
But what the words amounted to
Wasn't the worst thing: not
Anything that had to do
With going up in a solar hell,
But rather with the President,
A motorcade, a hospital-
With how the evident extent
Of anybody's sudden death
Was elsewhere and over with.
A parallel universe bridged through a certain kind of memory. The memory of response to news. It occurred to me that the description of this day as it is being experienced must have been quite different that the revisited memory that created the parallel. I suppose that memory is only available as a parallel anyway.
ReplyDeleteI love how the narrator didn't care. I can't recall anyone every describing JFk's assassination in this fashion.
ReplyDeleteI remember watching those drop, duck, and cover videos in school. We watched earthquake ones, and in high school we watched the old 50s videos in history class. But at the time kids could have been really scared of cold war, and sci fi scenarios becoming more and more true. But none of that, just one guy who happens to be President killed on the other side of the country.
I just reread this after reading the white bird poem from Jan. 8 and the way you described the narrator not caring was interesting to me here. This poem brought me one vantage point outside of it, zooming outward into the look of a look. Its almost like the narrator is writing about his experience from that witness standpoint- taking the ego out. This is often a really neat way to think about meditation and by zooming out we try to kindof get past the layer of the body that holds emotion. But he is also a ninth grader whose emotions are most likely in every other place besides the one he is in?
ReplyDeleteIt's quite fascinating to remember these types of moments.
I was at that theater that day also. Came upon this poem very randomly and was surprised to read and remember my reaction.
ReplyDelete