Hoagland - Application for release from the dream: poems

Graywolf Press Copyright 2015 by Tony Hoagland This publication is made possible, in part, by the voters of Minnesota through a Minnesota State Arts Board Operating Support grant, thanks to a legislative appropriation from the arts and cultural heritage fund, and through grants from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Wells Fargo Foundation Minnesota. Significant support has also been provided by Target, the McKnight Foundation, Amazon.com, and other generous contributions from foundations, corporations, and individuals.

To these organizations and individuals we offer our heartfelt thanks. Published by Graywolf Press 250 Third Avenue North, Suite 600 Minneapolis, Minnesota 55401 All rights reserved. www.graywolfpress.org Published in the United States of America ISBN 978-1-55597-718-4 Ebook ISBN 978-1-55597-908-9 2 4 6 8 9 7 5 3 1 First Graywolf Printing, 2015 Library of Congress Control Number: 2015939972 Cover design: Kyle G. Hunter Cover photo: Dan Fischer / Barcroft Media / Landov for Kathleen Lee The experiment failed; the lead did not change into gold. But the alchemist remembered the lute hidden in his closet. THOMAS OWENS It is hard to drop from the self into the soul.

JAMES HILLMAN

Joseph Cornell collected souvenirs of places he was miserable in, which pretty much was everywhere he went. Churchill felt afraid on stairs. Terrible migraines of Virginia Woolf entered her skull and would not be evicted. I read biographies because I want to know how people suffered in the past; how they endured, and is it different, now, for us? This bright but gentle morning, like the light of childhood; then, because of the antidepressant, day by day, the gradual return of curiosity. What is a human being? What does it mean? It seems a crucial thing to know, but no one does. From my window, I can see the oak tree in whose shade the man from UPS parks his van at noon to eat his lunch and read the ads for Full Body Asian Massage .

You will conquer obstacles, thats what the fortune cookie said; first I crumpled it up, then went back later to retrieve it from the trash. Midnight, walking down Cerillos Avenue, alone, past the auto dealerships and thrift stores, past the vintage neon of the Geronimo Motel. Someones up late, painting the inside of Ernies Pizza Parlor, which will be opening in June. As I walk by, all I can see is the ladder, and two legs near the top, going out of sight.

The tourists are strolling down Alpine Street hoping for a deal on hand-carved rocking chairs or some bronze Kali Yuga earrings from the local Yak Arts dealer. Its summer.

No one needs therapy for now, or a guide to the aesthetics of collage laughing as they walk past the acupuncture clinic, and Orleans Fish and Chips, then double back to the Omega store to look more closely at those shoes. People like to buy. They just do. They like the green tissue paper. They like extracting the card from its tight prophylactic sheath, handing it over, and getting it back. They like to swing the bag when they stroll away.

They like to stash the box in the car. A forty-year-old man stares at a wetsuit on the rack: Is it too late in life to dress up like a seal and surf? as the beech tree in front of the courthouse suddenly fluffs itself up and flutters, and a woman with a henna rinse holds a small glass vase up to the light to see the tiny turquoise bubbles trapped inside. As a child she felt a secret just inside her skin, always on the brink of bursting out. Now the secret is on the outside, and she is hunting it.

Its going to be so great when America is just a second fiddle and we stand on the sidelines and watch the big boys slug it out. Old men reading the Times on benches in Central Park will smile and say, Let France take care of it.

Farmers in South Carolina will have bumper stickers that read One Nation, with Vegetables for All and USA: Numero Uno for Triple-A Tomatoes! America, you big scary baby, didnt you know when you pounded your chest like that in public it just embarrassed us? When you lied to yourself on television, we looked down at our feet. When your left hand turned into a claw, when you hammered the little country down and sang the Pledge of Allegiance, I put on my new sunglasses and stared at the church across the street. I thought I had to go down with you, hating myself in red, white, and blue, learning to say Im sorry in more and more foreign languages. But now at last the end of our dynasty has arrived and I feel humble and calm and curiously free. Its so good to be unimportant. Its nice to sit on the shore of the Potomac and watch Time take back half of everything.

Its a relief to take the dog for a walk without frightening the neighbors. My country, tis of thee I sing: There are worse things than being second burrito, minor player, ex-bigshot, former VIP, drinking decaf in the nursing home for downsized superpowers. Like a Navajo wearing a cowboy hat, may you learn to handle history with irony. May you gaze into the looking-glass and see your doubleness old blue eyes in a surprised brown face. May your women finally lay down the law: no more war on a school night. May your shame be cushioned by the oldest chemotherapy: stage after stage of acceptance.

May someone learn to love you again. May you sit on the porch with the other countries in the late afternoon, and talk about chickens and rain.

The attorney collects a fee of seven million for getting eighteen million back from the widow of the CEO whose corporation stole three billion from ten thousand stockholders and employees. She has to go down to one Mercedes and take driving lessons. The radio said expect delays, but five thousand years for justice still seems ridiculous. What I heard from behind me at the baseball game: We cant see anything from here it seemed so true of us.

The two young actresses flip a coin to see who will get to play the cancer patient because they know the worst fate makes the best role and that dying can be good for your career. One of them will go to Hollywood and be a star. The other will move to Cincinnati and take photos of her twins running back and forth through the sprinkler in shorts, soaking wet, shrieking with delight.