Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SKETCH FOR A JOB APPLICATION BLANK, by JAMES HARRISON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: My left eye is blind and jogs like Last Line: Warmth, more warmth, I cry.) Alternate Author Name(s): Harrison, Jim Subject(s): Ancestors & Ancestry; Labor & Laborers; Memory; Self-doubt; Heritage; Heredity; Work; Workers | ||||||||
My left eye is blind and jogs like a milky sparrow in its socket; my nose is large and never flares in anger, the front teeth, bucked, but not in lechery -- I sucked my thumb until the age of twelve. O my youth was happy and I was never lonely though my friends called me "pig eye" and the teachers thought me loony. (When I bruised, my psyche kept intact: I fell from horses, and once a cow but never pigs -- a neighbor lost a hand to a sow.) But I had some fears: the salesman of eyes, his case was full of fishy baubles, against black velvet, jeweled gore, the great cocked hoof of a Belgian mare, a nest of milk snakes by the water trough, electric fences, my uncle's hounds, the pump arm of an oil well, the chop and whir of a combine in the sun. From my ancestors, the Swedes, I suppose I inherit the love of rainy woods, kegs of herring and neat whiskey -- I remember long nights of pinochle, the bulge of Redman in my grandpa's cheek; the rug smelled of manure and kerosene. They laughed loudly and didn't speak for days. (But on the other side, from the German Mennonites, their rag-smoke prayers and porky daughters I got intolerance, and aimless diligence.) In '51 during a revival I was saved: I prayed on a cold register for hours and woke up lame. I was baptized by immersion in the tank at Williamston -- the rusty water stung my eyes. I left off the old things of the flesh but not for long -- one night beside a pond she dried my feet with her yellow hair. O actual event dead quotient cross become green I still love Jubal but pity Hagar. (Now self is the first sacrament who loves not the misery and taint of the present tense is lost. I strain for a lunar arrogance. Light macerates the lamp infects warmth, more warmth, I cry.) | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER WORKING SIXTY HOURS AGAIN FOR WHAT REASON by HICOK. BOB DAY JOB AND NIGHT JOB by ANDREW HUDGINS BIXBY'S LANDING by ROBINSON JEFFERS ON BUILDING WITH STONE by ROBINSON JEFFERS LINES FROM A PLUTOCRATIC POETASTER TO A DITCH-DIGGER by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS IN CALIFORNIA: MORNING, EVENING, LATE JANUARY by DENISE LEVERTOV THE IDEA OF BALANCE IS TO BE FOUND IN HERONS AND LOONS by JAMES HARRISON |
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