August 3: "Height," Acrophobia, Lily

Billy Collins doesn't suffer from vertigo . . . 

Height

by: Billy Collins

Viewed from the roof of a tall building,

people on the street

are said to take on the appearance of ants,

but I have been up here for so long

gazing down over the parapet,

that the ants below have begun to resemble people.

Look at that one lingering

near a breadcrumb on the curb,

does he not share the appearance of my brother-in-law?

And the beautiful young ant

in the light summer dress

with the smooth, ovoid hear,

the one heading up the lamppost--

could she not double for my favorite cousin

with her glad eyes and her pulled-back hair?

Surely, one with the face

of my mother and another with the posture

of my father will soon go hobbling by.

I'm not a fan of high places.  I learned this fact about myself in the absolute worst place for a person who suffers acrophobia--at the top of the Empire State Building.  Before that day, I'd never had a panic attack in my life.  But there I was, 1,250 feet above Manhattan, trying to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest like an alien parasite.

Nowadays, I avoid situations that put me in high places--buildings, summits, roofs, trees, porches, bridges.  Every Saturday, I play the pipe organ in the choir loft of a Catholic church.  That means I'm about 20 or 30 feet above the sanctuary.  How do I manage to do this?  I'll share my secret:  I don't look down unless absolutely necessary.

I played tonight.  Avoided the railing.  Glanced down only once or twice.  The Mass went well.  There were more people in the pews than I expected.  It was warm again today, but not quite as humid.  So, it didn't feel like I was being slowly broiled as I played.  And, outside the church, the flower garden was open for business.

I often think those wide-angle, Cinemascope views of landscapes are humbling.  Nothing can make you feel more insignificant.  However, sticking my face into those blossoms as I left church this evening was humbling, too.  A universe of beauty in the mouth and breath of a lily.

Saint Marty was grounded and flying at the same time.

June 11: Archy the Cockroach, Ambitions, Insignificant

...[Archy the cockroach] embodied both Elwyn's ambitions as a writer and his sense of being small and insignificant, as well as his need to hide from people...

The young E. B. White loved the character of Archy the cockroach created by newspaper columnist Don Marquis.  Archy was a poet reincarnated as a cockroach, and White truly identified with Archy's poetic endeavors and low self-esteem.  The future author of Charlotte's Web struggled with the urge to be read and his almost pathological shyness.

I'm not a shy person, but I do struggle with ambition.  I tend to suffer from bouts of extreme jealousy.  Nobody is safe.  Favorite authors.  Friends.  Colleagues.  In my life, I have lots of writer friends.  Some of them are fantastic and deserve all the attention they receive.  Others are mediocre and still receive lots of attention.  Most of them have full-time professor gigs at the university.  You can see where this discussion is headed.

I'm tired of being the only poet cockroach that doesn't teach full-time.  I'm tired of being insignificant.  Yet, at the moment, I'm stuck.  I have sometimes had this daydream that I was Robert Frost in a former life.  That would mean that I'm Frost's punishment.  His cockroach.

Saint Marty doesn't find that very comforting.

This guy's probably got tenure