Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, INTERIOR, by WILLARD JOHNSON



Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

INTERIOR, by                    
First Line: I wondered if I were a chair myself
Last Line: And to be alone . . .


I wondered if I were a chair myself,
Or perhaps just a serape
Thrown down carelessly
Dragging on the floor.

I wasn't thinking, only sitting,
And there seemed no difference
Between me and the table.
Except that the table had four legs
Browner than my two,
And the table's face
Reflected the light
More vividly than mine.
The little carving on the wooden stand
Was more beautiful than I am,
And the painting on the wall
Was more alive,
And the book beside me
Was more intelligent,
And the electric light brighter;
And the pillow, and the piano,
And the paper-weight,
And the flowers in the vase,
And the rugs --
Everything was more something.

Surely the curtains at the window
Can see the moon rise,
And an automobile
With green eyelids
Come up the street,
And Mars approaching
With a bloody twinkle.

Surely the piano can remember
The girl with auburn hair
Who played the tune she said
Was popular in St. Louis.
And what chair could forget
That a fat man sat upon it
Through an evening?

Yes, I must be a chair,
Or a serape, or a rug.
I seem to remember
The nail the carpenter used
To mend my broken arm;
And I can recall the hollow shock
Each time the weaver
Put his foot upon the pedal
Of his loom repairing me.
But at the same time
I feel the pleasant thrill
Of a girl shaking me
In the sunlight.

And all the while I know
That I am nothing in the room
But all of it;
That I am here not only now
But have always been here.
I am confused and timeless:
Is this a pelado's poor adobe,
Or has an artist
Remodelled it into a studio?
Do I see a barren cot
In that corner instead of cushions and a couch?
Or is this tomorrow
Instead of yesterday?

I seem to have sat here a hundred years,
Waiting for an explanation of it all.
And yet I came in only hour ago
To sit quietly
And to be alone . . .





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