Green BuddhasOn the fruit stand.We eat the smileAnd spit out the teeth.
The well-lit,All-night drugstoreIn the skyOpen for businessSomething, please,Miss,To ease my fearOf the dark.She, not looking up,BusyMeasuringInto a vialDrop after dropOf that clearOdorless drug,They call infinity.
Further Adventures of Charles Simic
Is our Charles Simic afraid of death?Yes, Charles Simic is afraid of death.Does he kneel and pray for eternal life?No, he's busy drawing a valentine with a crayon.Pale as a freshly chopped onion,He goes over the wrongs he committed.His conscience, does it bother him much?Only when he lies down to get a night's rest.The hellfires, does he feel them closing in?No, but he hears the hounds barking.Does he lift his eyes humbly in forgiveness?Her love was his judge, her wrath the jury.Some dark night, praying to the Lord above,His own tongue will slash his throat.
After Charles Simic passed away a couple of weeks ago (Jan. 9), I pulled the book off the shelf and have been making my way through it again. These are a couple that caught my eye on this rereading. (I haven't yet finished it.)
Simic (1938-2023) was born in Belgrade, in the former Yugoslavia, now Serbia, and moved to the U.S. as a teenager in in 1954. He won a Pulitzer for poetry as well as various other awards, and was made the U.S. poet laureate in 2007. (A two-year term, I think, at that point.)