Q and A: How is it that poems can just fail? (the abridged version) / By Julianna Baggott
The poem can suffer a buoyed listing,
like a swamped canoe;
poor planning—
hitting an iceberg and not enough life boats;
or tidiness, hazardous symmetry,
an initial attempt at the St. Louis Arch off
by damning inches.
The poem can become so fearful and tidy
that it wraps itself in plastic slip covers.
The poem can marry Yoko Ono.
It can fail by doing its job,
as if this is someone’s idea of work.
It can crow too loudly and pop something vital.
It can topple on its own Elvis image
until it’s fat and working Vegas in studs.
The poem can whisper to itself, referring only
to the most intimate cataclysms.
It can hang itself with the golden rope
of one perfect line.
(from Compulsions of Silkworms & Bees, 2007)
