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LETTERS TO YESENIN: 19, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Naturally we would prefer seven epiphanies a day and an earth
Last Line: Shedding tunics in my path, all dead friends come to life again.
Alternate Author Name(s): Harrison, Jim
Subject(s): Despair; Miracles; Poetry & Poets; Yesenin, Sergei (1895-1925)


Naturally we would prefer seven epiphanies a day and an earth not so apparently
devoid of angels. We become very tired with pretending we like to earn a
living, with the ordinary objects and events of our lives. What a beautiful
toothbrush. How wonderful to work overtime. What a nice cold we have to go
with the cold crabbed spring. How fun to have no money at all. This thin soup
tastes great. I'm learning something every morning from cheap wine hangovers.
These rejection slips are making me a bigger person. The mailbox is always so
empty let's paint it pink. It's good for my soul that she prefers to screw
another. Our cat's right eyeball became ulcerated and had to be pulled but
she's the same old cat. I can't pay my taxes and will be sent to prison but it
will probably be a good experience. That rattlesnake striking at dog and
daughter was interesting. How it writhed beautifully with its head cut off and
dog and daughter were tugging at it. How purging to lose our last twenty
dollars in a crap game. Seven come eleven indeed. But what grand songs you made
out of an awful life though you had no faith that less was more, that there was
some golden splendor in humiliation. After all those poems you were declared a
coward and a parasite. Mayakovsky hissed in public over your corpse and work
only to take his own life a little while later. Meanwhile back in America Crane
had his Guggenheim year and technically jumped ship. Had he been seven hundred
feet tall he would have been OK. I suspect you would have been the kind of
friends you both needed so badly. So many husbands have little time for their
homosexual friends. But we should never imagine we love this daily plate of
shit. The horses in the yard bite and chase each other. I'll make a carol of my
dream: carried in a litter by lovely women, a 20 lb. bag of cocaine, angels
shedding tunics in my path, all dead friends come to life again.





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