Billy Collins said . . .
Heraclitus on Vacation
by: Billy Collins
into the same swimming pool twice,
dive, or even cannonball
into the deep or shallow end
as many times as you like
depending on how much you had to drink.
Billy Collins is obviously having some fun with Heraclitus. I appreciate his irreverence. There's nothing wrong with thumbing your nose at people who take themselves too seriously. I've been a part of academia for over 30 years, and I've met my share of inflated egos.
I like to believe that I have remained pretty humble throughout my life. It's the way I was brought up. Don't get me wrong--I love the spotlight. Few things give me as much pleasure as reading my poems in front of an audience and feeling them respond to my words.
However, I know that I'm not that important. I haven't solved world hunger or cured cancer. I recycle and compost, but I'm not Greta Thunberg. I write poetry, but I'm not Diane Seuss or Jericho Brown. I have two great kids, but I'm not Mike Brady dispensing sage, fatherly advice. And I have great friends who love me, but I'm not Fred Rogers singing "It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood."
I am simply trying to be the best person I can be on a daily basis. Sometimes, I succeed. Often, however, I fail miserably. That keeps me from spending too much time on top of anyone's pedestal. I make tons of mistakes, and I feel as though I disappoint a lot of people who are important in my life.
I believe the best way to remain humble and true to yourself is to own and atone for your mistakes. So please accept my apology if I've somehow let you down in any way recently or in the past. It's never my intention to hurt or harm the people I love.
Clarence, the angel from It's a Wonderful Life, says this to George, "Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. And when he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?"
When Saint Marty is gone from this world, he hopes he leaves a very large hole to prove that he somehow made a difference.
Here's another poem by Collins about something that has made a difference in his life . . .
Ode to a Desk Lamp
by: Billy Collins
Oh faithful light, under which I have written
and read for all these decades,
flying saucer with your underbelly softly aglow,
rising on a stem from a heavy metal base,
lamp I rescued from my old girlfriend's mother,
who was about to toss you
from her condo on a bluff
overlooking the ruffled Pacific.
Has anyone been with me longer?
me without siblings or children,
you with your kindly 60 watt frosted bulb,
you who have not died like others I know,
you nestled in a bath towel
on the floorboards of the car
as I backed it down the driveway of my marriage
and steered east then south down the two- then four-lane roads.
So many nights like this one,
me sleepless, you gazing down on the page
and now on a crystal rock, a tiny figure of a pig,
and an orchid dying in its blue China pot.
But that is more than enough
of the sad drapery of the past as I hold the present
between two fingers and the thumb
and a blue train whistles in the distance.
It's time to saddle up, partner,
once I unplug your tail from the socket,
time to ride out west,
far from the gaucheries of men,
the inconstancy of women,
and the rowdy mortality of them all,
until we find a grove of trees near a river--
just you and me with our bedrolls under a scattering of stars.
❤️
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