{"id":4834,"date":"2014-06-15T02:34:03","date_gmt":"2014-06-15T02:34:03","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/sporkpress.com\/?p=4834"},"modified":"2014-06-15T02:34:03","modified_gmt":"2014-06-15T02:34:03","slug":"yorick","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/2014\/06\/15\/yorick\/","title":{"rendered":"Yorick || Joshua Kleinberg"},"content":{"rendered":"

Yorick <\/strong>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I have reheated a lasagna from Famiglia\u2014<\/p>\n

official pizzeria of The New York Yankees<\/p>\n

since 2003\u2014<\/p>\n

have warmed even the bread in the oven,<\/p>\n

let the tap run slow,<\/p>\n

over the ice<\/p>\n

in a pint glass\u2014clicking the ice, waiting<\/p>\n

for the sweat to materialize.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I have gotten good and high, you see.<\/p>\n

And I do sometimes try<\/p>\n

to be at least<\/p>\n

a little pretty. One entire day to myself,<\/p>\n

I\u2019d billed it, to myself. A few hours to think.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Certain knowledges appear in one blunt swipe:<\/p>\n

a single pour of light from the sky,<\/p>\n

and then you\u2019re blind, for fucking weeks.<\/p>\n

But there are other truths, too. They must be rolled<\/p>\n

and re-rolled in the blood. It aches for years<\/p>\n

and doesn\u2019t know why. Like a chest, throbbing. Like a thigh,<\/p>\n

writhing in a hand. Have I mentioned this dinner?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Like another I recall: alone one night,<\/p>\n

in the mountains\u2014you\u2019d have loved it:<\/p>\n

I blew sixty dollars on squid from the coast<\/p>\n

and Chardonnay, and ate slowly\u2014<\/p>\n

in the only three star-restaurant in Missoula\u2014<\/p>\n

with a type of dignified sadness<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t often achieve.
\nNormally,<\/p>\n

it\u2019s spritely drunk (you know that),<\/p>\n

or flopping around, with locks of hair<\/p>\n

in my hand (you know that too).<\/p>\n

I\u2019m only partly<\/em> sure I\u2019m not faking it, most days.<\/p>\n

But I try to be on the lookout.<\/p>\n

I do.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

That night in the mountains: I was missing,<\/p>\n

in what seems like a provincial way,<\/p>\n

the opulent meals at my folks\u2019 home<\/p>\n

that time when they got all that money.<\/p>\n

Showing up with transmission issues,<\/p>\n

jacket too light, the quiet moonlight<\/p>\n

they\u2019d bought, in the country,<\/p>\n

and on and on. The zombie-arms<\/p>\n

of the past, crumbling at the door.<\/p>\n

You could go back for longer<\/p>\n

than it took you to live it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I remember after dinner: my mother<\/p>\n

in dreary thought. She\u2019s always<\/p>\n

looking out the window at the chickens,<\/p>\n

or the pygmy goats they keep.<\/p>\n

And tonight, I am busting back open,<\/p>\n

because even in its dire days,<\/p>\n

I know this world\u2019s been built for me.<\/p>\n

The annual ritual is more holy than the daily.<\/p>\n

It must be, right? All that pomp.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I know I shouldn\u2019t say so, but<\/p>\n

I revere every one of my poverties<\/p>\n

for the clear, rare sublime they grant.<\/p>\n

Your laugh, growing between us,<\/p>\n

before it stutters out. Your eyes,<\/p>\n

scrambling from mine.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And anyway,<\/p>\n

the heartbreaker is one type of satisfying finale,<\/p>\n

in the sense of stark closure, at least.<\/p>\n

Can you hear me? I only really like a win<\/p>\n

that didn\u2019t seem very likely: a nice underdog story.<\/p>\n

I sometimes say poetry<\/p>\n

is gonna make a comeback.<\/p>\n

We just have to learn to write it again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

But then look at me. I\u2019ve written this far<\/p>\n

without even nearing what I mean:<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My feeble dinner, the joke of slow<\/p>\n

countenance\u2014I\u2019m trying tonight<\/p>\n

to be beautiful,<\/p>\n

because I\u2019m stupidly in love.<\/p>\n

Unadvisably in love.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I lay on the carpet, stomach churning,<\/p>\n

with visions. I fill with innocent blood for you<\/p>\n

and feel it,<\/p>\n

against the ground.<\/p>\n

And I have got<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

to do nothing about it.<\/p>\n

I know that.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

No sad, heroic soliloquy.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve just got to stop.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And the skulls of superfluous men<\/p>\n

look the same as any other in the hand.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And fifteen, fifteen, fifteen years may go by,<\/p>\n

and I may rather have you than make it to forty\u2014<\/p>\n

I may have written that down, the last time you left\u2014<\/p>\n

I may curdle with dreams<\/p>\n

of your mouth<\/p>\n

between my thumbs,<\/p>\n

but it still goes by\u2014<\/p>\n

we\u2019d be fine. And I hate that.<\/p>\n

And I hate that I hate that\u2014<\/p>\n

buildings razed, buildings<\/p>\n

newly upholstered. It\u2019s not heroic,<\/p>\n

we just tire out.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And even in the flood zones, the corpses<\/p>\n

go postal with boredom\u2014deader still,<\/p>\n

and getting deader. I keep telling you<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t mind it. It isn\u2019t exactly a lie.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A holy man claims to have translated Virgil<\/p>\n

into nonsense. He seems ugly,<\/p>\n

little tin scrap teeth.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And in the storefront iglesias,<\/p>\n

the humming of nothings,<\/p>\n

tall jars of candle, the wicks<\/p>\n

fizzing briefly.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Then less briefly.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Then ticking.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Nothing happens though.<\/p>\n

Nobody notices.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Some nights, for as long as I can recall,<\/p>\n

I know something I wish I didn\u2019t:<\/p>\n

the man is not holy. He\u2019s crazy.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The light\u2019s flicker is ordinary.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The birds hiss to remind you<\/p>\n

that nothing is talking to you.<\/p>\n

No one is magical.<\/p>\n

Like as a kid, you think,<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe this will be one of those<\/p>\n

miracle moments. Maybe the sky<\/p>\n

will open back for me now.\u201d<\/p>\n

And then you learned about your powers:<\/p>\n

nothing more than a cartwheel<\/p>\n

and a fartnoise, with your hands,<\/p>\n

which are real. I know my soul is paltry.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And a wet deck of cards in the street<\/p>\n

finds its way to the gutter<\/p>\n

faster than you\u2019d think. The joker,<\/p>\n

in the goutlight, getting fresh<\/p>\n

with all the queens.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

He whispers separately<\/p>\n

into each of their ears<\/p>\n

the same thing:<\/p>\n

I\u2019m the fool.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They tell sad men<\/p>\n

to visit me.<\/p>\n

___________________
\n<\/param><\/param><\/param><\/embed><\/object><\/p>\n

________________<\/p>\n

Joshua Kleinberg <\/strong>is an MFA candidate in poetry & translation at Columbia University. He is living in Ohio right now<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Yorick \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0     I have reheated a lasagna from Famiglia\u2014 official pizzeria of The New York Yankees […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1,2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4834","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","category-things"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4834","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4834"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4834\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4834"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4834"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4834"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}