[John Riley]

Behind the Screen

It was time to search
for the book.
I couldn’t put it off any longer.
It was a necessary book
and I had no choice
but to search until I found it.
The bookshelves are located
in no particular order
throughout this old house
that is larger than we need.
We are only two people.
As I searched I thought
I caught the scent
of a freshly washed child
hurrying past although
I am not certain. I am
free of the means needed
to verify sensations.
Many things fly past when
I move and when I stand
and when I stare, although
I am often reminded
there is nothing to be seen
or heard or smelled.
I continued my search
and eventually found the book
of classic Chinese poetry
selected and translated
by David Hinton.
It is lying face down now
on the far side of the table
behind the computer screen.

[Glenn Wright]

Very enigmatic piece, John. The short lines give it a breathless urgency. Why is the book so important to find? Why did he put off looking for it? Who is the other person in the house and where is he or she? Is the other person a child, or is the child (who may or may not be real) a third person in the house? The lines, “I am / free of the means needed / to verify sensations.” make me think he must be a ghost, no longer possessing sense organs, but nevertheless able somehow to detect some smells and sights. If he is dead, the comment that “there is nothing to be seen / or heard or smelled” would make sense. Or is the speaker simply very old? Does he need the book to prepare for his death? He finds the book he’s looking for “lying face down now / on the far end of the table / behind the computer screen.” Had he rejected the book earlier? David Hinton is a scholar and poet known for his translations of Chinese poems, but also for his books on Taoism, Zen Buddhism, and ecological awareness. So many questions. Nice job!

[Joe Crocker]

The "freshly washed child hurrying past" is a killer. A ghost from your own past that scalds your quotidian intellectual business.

[Roger Slater]

I am unable to say anything intelligent about your poem, but I think it's quite good and I enjoyed reading it more than once. I'm not sure why, but I found it quite engaging.

[David Callin]

The child made me think of The Turn of the Screw. Definitely some haunting going on. I think.

[John Riley]

Thanks for reading and for taking the time to comment. It's funny how the simpler something is the more confounding it can be. That isn't my attempt at $9.99 wisdom. It's my experience with this poem and others. I wish I could do a better job of remembering that.

[Perry Miller]

I notice that no one suggested that you cut the poem down, even though it wanders a bit off its central topic. I am not going to advise you to do that either. There was a time when a poem like this would get cut down to ten lines, regardless of whatever forum you posted it on. Indeed, I've had formalist poet friends suggest I eliminate 75% of the poems I showed them. Those days seem to be over, and I'm glad.

I do admit that I am a little confused by the portion that starts "I am free of the means ...".

[Nick McRae]

John, I was a bit confounded by this poem at first as it's so unlike anything else I've seen from you, but now that it's been bumped again it's settled in. This line is haunting:

As I searched I thought
I caught the scent
of a freshly washed child
hurrying past although
I am not certain

At first I read it as you not having children, but I think I'm recalling that you're a grandparent, so it must be a child of years past. It's haunting because I'm now watching my own boys slip through my fingers. I still feel like a new parent and the older one is already starting school this year.

Also haunting because you can see how terrifying and heartwrenching parenting really is. Not only do they leave you, but they could leave you for good. And it's a reminder to appreciate the days you're with them, no matter how difficult the mechanics are.

And the other read works well too, that you'd never had kids and are looking at the past in regret, walking aimlessly through a large, empty house.

I'm also picking up some feeling from Buddhism, but that may only be because I know that you practice, and I tend to read your poems through that lens.

On the whole I found this one very moving, and don't think I'd change anything. The way it meanders and uses direct language, as if you're talking to yourself, waiting for your kids to come home or your wife to join you, is perfect.

Thanks for posting.