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Literature Text
XVII.
(Ett, Ensam)
I am lonely,
an anxious, fearful, awkward
infant.
I talk too fast and too much and too often
and too confusingly.
I talk about things people don't understand
or don't understand what people talk about.
I avoid what others run to and
seek out what others avoid.
Who am I?
Who
am
I
I think I might be crazy.
I keep existing, though, somehow not
yet taken by Evolution. Is that right?
Am I a correction or a mistake?
Am I the eraser or the scribble of pencil?
(Ett, Ensam)
I am lonely,
an anxious, fearful, awkward
infant.
I talk too fast and too much and too often
and too confusingly.
I talk about things people don't understand
or don't understand what people talk about.
I avoid what others run to and
seek out what others avoid.
Who am I?
Who
am
I
I think I might be crazy.
I keep existing, though, somehow not
yet taken by Evolution. Is that right?
Am I a correction or a mistake?
Am I the eraser or the scribble of pencil?
I'm posting the various short poems from an autobiographical project I did last semester. They aren't amazing because I (admittedly) didn't take a lot of time on them. I'll include the description from some of them (since we had to explain them as well), but for some, I'd rather not since they are very personal.
Comments:
The subtitle of this one is important. Ett, Ensam can be roughly translated from Swedish (my favorite language) to “One, Alone.” It is short because it’s something I have a hard time explaining. When I first got to college, I felt terribly alone. I still sort of do, but not nearly as much as then. I was really hurting, and this is about how out-of-place I felt and still sometimes feel. This is also a good tie back to the original question posed -- “Who am I?”
Comments:
The subtitle of this one is important. Ett, Ensam can be roughly translated from Swedish (my favorite language) to “One, Alone.” It is short because it’s something I have a hard time explaining. When I first got to college, I felt terribly alone. I still sort of do, but not nearly as much as then. I was really hurting, and this is about how out-of-place I felt and still sometimes feel. This is also a good tie back to the original question posed -- “Who am I?”
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Comments2
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The end is strong. The rest of it sounds like what it is, to be honest. An uninvested autobiographical project, and I feel like some of it might be more at home in prose than in poetry. Don't know if you've ever read Dostoevsky, but his "Notes From Underground" begins very similarly to that. I don't know if the picture associated with the poems is yours, but I like it as well.