A Poem For A Friday

Friday, February 19, 2021

Disappointment
by Tony Hoagland

I was feeling pretty religious

standing on the bridge in my winter coat

looking down at the gray water:

the sharp little waves dusted with snow,

fish in their tin armor.

 

That’s what I like about disappointment:

the way it slows you down,

when the querulous insistent chatter of desire

            goes dead calm

 

and the minor roadside flowers

pronounce their quiet colors,

and the red dirt of the hillside glows.

 

She played the flute, he played the fiddle

and the moon came up over the barn.

Then he didn’t get the job,—

or her father died before she told him

            that one, most important thing—

 

and everything got still.

 

It was February or October

It was July

I remember it so clear

You don’t have to pursue anything ever again

It’s over

You’re free

You’re unemployed

 

You just have to stand there

looking out on the water

in your trench coat of solitude

with your scarf of resignation

            lifting in the wind.

 


Brightspot is helping to manage the NH "Poetry Out Loud" competition, an annual event where high schoolers learn and recite poems. The state champion then goes on to the nationals. This week, we've been recording student recitations - usually the semi-finals are regional competitions held in-person around the state, but for obvious reasons, this year they're virtual.


But whew boy, it has been so amazing to see these kids bring poetry to life like this. Along with Amanda Gordon's out-of-this-world poem reading at Biden's inauguration, it's such a great reminder that hearing poetry is an entirely different thing than reading poetry. Doing both is the jackpot.


Anyway, long story short, it has revived my interest. A colleague passed along this poem and after multiple reads, I'm loving it. I've never thought about the release disappointment could bring or that freedom that might come with losing out on something. Fascinating to find the inside out flip side of things. Lovely.

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