Dream Song 14
Categories: Literature
by John Berryman
Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) “Ever to confess you’re bored
means you have no
Inner Resources.” I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as Achilles,
who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into the mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.
My mom never told me that, but I do recall something about ‘idle hands’ and ‘the devil’s workshop,’ which is probably a lot worse to tell a little kid who thinks the devil is a big red monster with horns and yellow eyes.
The devil makes an appearance in this song with John Berryman on Washington Bridge right before he jumped off it, and I guess the devil was a woman. Maybe she had red high heels and horns.