of John Berryman's "Dream Song 324"
Pen in Murray County to Alvin underground:
You rest well in a coffin, but who found
the last of your breaths those yesterdays: like a bouquet of flowers
sent from an unseen son, I think I see my grandfather glower
over the visitors' book, at the bolding lines--
a result of names unsigned--and reminds
him of Sundays spent on cigarettes, flea market conversations
with a few women and ripened fruit. I watch his hesitation,
as if there is no longer a mutual trust between pen
and the fingers its in.
My grandfather initials B.B., just for the sound,
and then I am left alone, with paper and pen, unbound.
There's a great deal to admire here sonically, imagistically,like "who found the last of your breaths" or the clever play on your last name "bolding". This also seems to be doing a lot of work with juggling and interconnective tissue--the grandfather's hestiation to write his name coupled with, by end, the speaker's own inability to seize the pen, "paper and pen, unbound". There's also a great sensuality and depth to the grandfather that I would like to see further fleshed out (answer why--why flea markets and women? Why the hesitation?)On another note, in terms of juggling the "you" of the coffin in the beginning, it seems to curiously disappear and, as it stands, function more as a vehicle towards the discovered subject--the grandfather--as opposed to functioning as an additional plate for the poem to perform.
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