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8.4
/10
(11
votes)
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I liked my little hole,
Its window facing a brick wall.
Next door there was a piano.
A few evenings a month
a crippled old man came to play
"My Blue Heaven."
Mostly, though, it was quiet.
Each room with its spider in heavy overcoat
Catching his fly with a web
Of cigarette smoke and revery.
So dark,
I could not see my face in the shaving mirror.
At 5 A.M. the sound of bare feet upstairs.
The "Gypsy" fortuneteller,
Whose storefront is on the corner,
Going to pee after a night of love.
Once, too, the sound of a child sobbing.
So near it was, I thought
For a moment, I was sobbing myself.
Charles Simic
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Read poems about / on: mirror, child, heaven, dark, night, children
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Comments about this poem (Hotel Insomnia
by
Charles Simic
) |
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comments about this poem (Hotel Insomnia by
Charles Simic
)
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M M
(11/14/2007 11:09:00 AM) |
Enjambment? May be...
It lacks both rhyme and reason.
It is a lesson..
In what is knot poetry..
Crude strings of *sob* imagery
(speed tanka time: just a second)
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Tired of Being Exploited
(5/3/2007 11:42:00 AM) |
So near it was, I thought
For a moment, I was sobbing myself.
These lines are such an impeccable example of the true power of enjambment.
Many facets can be seen in just one phrase. Fantastic!
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Charles Simic
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