Dorance

It's been awhile since I've posted any poetry to the site, but lately there's one phrase I just can't get out of my head. In Stephen King's Insomnia, Ralph Roberts (the protagonist) unexpectedly receives a book of poetry and there's one line in particular that haunts him: "Each thing I do I rush through so I can do something else." Sounds like a pretty apt description of college life, no?

Tonight I present Pursuit, by Stephen Dobyns:

Each thing I do I rush through so I can do
something else. In such a way do the days pass -
a blend of stock car racing and the never
ending building of a gothic cathedral.
Through the windows of my speeding car, I see
all that I love falling away: books unread,
jokes untold, landscapes unvisited. And why?
What treasure do I expect in my future?
Rather it is the confusion of childhood
loping behind me, the chaos in the mind,
the failure chipping away at each success.
Glancing over my shoulder I see its shape
and so move forward, as someone in the woods
at night might hear the sound of approaching feet
and stop to listen, then, instead of silence
he hears some creature trying to be silent.
What else can he do but run? Rushing blindly
down the path, stumbling, struck in the face by sticks;
the other ever closer, yet not really
hurrying or out of breath, teasing its kill.

Now if you'll excuse me, there's some other things that I need to do.

Comments

Now when you take your bearings in the field, place your compass level in the palm of your hand and turn yourself until the needle in the compass aligns with the declination marking on the face dial.

Now I feel that, you are a good poet. Now a days, it is a fast food life. We want to hurry up to achieve our target.