Kwame Dawes. Courtesy photo. Albert Goldbarth’s imagination has the unique penchant for a certain absurdist insistence on the delight we can derive from strangeness.
The poet hears his wife singing and thinks of a horse’s skull. This seems like a prelude to intimations of mortality (the poem’s title is, after all, “Tough Day: Closure”), but then, what happens is not quite humor, but dogged joy, “as if the brain/ is determined to sing and fly.”
And the image that stays with me is this one, a bird rising out of a horse’s skull.
Tough Day: Closure By Albert Goldbarth
Upstairs, in the bath, my wife is humming some made-up tune in which the mood of a zoned-out happiness willfully prevails.
Why do I suddenly think of the horse skull that I saw last year in the countryside?
Because a bird rose out of it,
as if the brain is determined to sing and fly, the brain is determined to sing and fly no matter what.
Kwame Dawes. Courtesy photo. Albert Goldbarth’s imagination has the unique penchant for a certain absurdist insistence on the delight we can derive from strangeness.
The poet hears his wife singing and thinks of a horse’s skull. This seems like a prelude to intimations of mortality (the poem’s title is, after all, “Tough Day: Closure”), but then, what happens is not quite humor, but dogged joy, “as if the brain/ is determined to sing and fly.”
And the image that stays with me is this one, a bird rising out of a horse’s skull.
Tough Day: Closure By Albert Goldbarth
Upstairs, in the bath, my wife is humming some made-up tune in which the mood of a zoned-out happiness willfully prevails.
Why do I suddenly think of the horse skull that I saw last year in the countryside?
Because a bird rose out of it,
as if the brain is determined to sing and fly, the brain is determined to sing and fly no matter what.