A True Story

This story may not be true:

a famous poet
once committed
psychological torture
upon a graduate student
in order to observe her behavior
and derive content
for a book of poems.

He was not alone in his effort:
he enlisted other graduate students
to assist him and observe and report
on their comrade.

This part is true:

as an undergrad I once sat in a dorm room
hearing this story from the woman who had been abused
or claimed to have been abused,
and I believed it.

This part is also true:

I told this story
to many people over the years
as if it were certainly true.

At first, I named names.

Then the book in question was published
to no acclaim
and general bewilderment: where
had the famous poet’s talent gone?

I kept telling the story.

The famous poet
later redeemed himself
with better books.

And I began to choose my listeners
and hedge the details,
and soon I stopped telling the story altogether.

This is also true:

I have read the work of the famous poet
in this story, and wondered,
and thought about it, and looked for clues,
and I have written a lot since then
and wondered, and looked for clues,
and thought about truth and redemption
through poems,
and nothing disguises the fact
that I am no famous poet,
but I believe in the power of fame.
I am no famous poet,
I am ashamed of what poets will do
in the pursuit of a poem,

and I wrote this.

Tags: poems, poetry, meditations