I am, just as Billy Collins predicted (in the recording of this poem's reading, found here) "intensely fond of" his poem Forgetfulness.
I had forgotten exactly why I liked it so much until I listened to it again this morning. I think it has something to do with the poet.
What was his name again?
Oh, yeah.
Billy.
Collins.
Love him.
I think.
Forgetfulness
by Billy Collins
The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,
as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
~~~~~~~~~~
(Read and listen to the entire poem here, at Poets.org)
Don't forget -- Julie Larios has the Poetry Friday round up today at The Drift Record.
2 comments:
I too love Billy Collins. He seems a bit like a Shel Silverstein for adults. So satisfyingly clever and haunting.
Love this one! Do I know you? :) Oh yes, now I remember . . .
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