I’ve been thinking about jealousy quite a bit lately. Along those lines, here is one more piece by Billy Collins before I have to return the library book.
The Rival Poet
The column of your book titles,
always introducing your latest one,
looms over me like Roman architecture.
It is longer than the name of an Italian countess, longer
than this poem will probably be.
Etched on the head of a pin,
my own production would leave room for
The lord’s Prayer and many dancing angels.
In my revenge dream I am the one
poised on the marble staircase
high above the crowded ballroom.
A retainer in livery announces me
and the Contessa Maria Teresa Isabella
Veronica Multalire Eleganza de Bella Ferrari.
You are the one below
fidgeting in your rented tux
with some local Cindy hanging all over you.
I couldn’t pass up reposting this quote about Jesus:
But what had lasting significance were not the miracles themselves but Jesus’ love. Jesus raised his friend Lazarus from the dead, and a few years later, Lazarus died again. Jesus healed the sick, but eventually caught some other disease. He fed the ten thousands, and the next day they were hungry again. But we remember his love. It wasn’t that Jesus healed a leper but that he touched a leper, because no one touched lepers.
– Shane Claiborne
For those of us really excited about miracles and also to those really excited about theology, maybe we ought to just touch the lepers.
OK. I’m being lazy this week with blogging. I’m just going to post one more Billy Collins poem. This one is called Man in Space.
All you have to do is listen to the way a man
sometimes talks to his wife at a table of people
and notice how intent he is on making his point
even though her lower lip is beginning to quiver,
and you will know why the women in science
fiction movies who inhabit a planet of their own
are not pictured making a salad or reading a magazine
when men from earth arrive in their rocket,
why they are always standing in a semicircle
with their arms folded, their bare legs set apart,
their breasts protected by hard metal disks.
I think this poem could be about a lot of different things, depending on how you approach it. It sure reminded me of one of those old cheesy Star Trek episodes.
A lot of the gals on that show had getups like this. Half of them using ended up kissing William Shatner and then later trying to mind-control him or something. One person I read commented about this photo:
“This is the episode with the giant can opener duel! Excelleeeeeent.”