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.
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's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Hotel Insomnia by Charles Simic )
- I feel bored, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- 30 September 2014, Shri R Brahma
- Praise God for that Touchdown (only if Y.., Joe Rosochacki
- Mablaba baogargwn be jaya, Shri R Brahma
- Uncle Ikey's Last Words No.44, Robert Graber
- My dinner عشائي, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Ang hastayw, Shri R Brahma
- Jwmwiya mwsayw, Shri R Brahma
- Dinwini gwswkhangthiyao, Shri R Brahma
- Thunlai swrjini, Shri R Brahma
Poem of the Day
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
- Heather Burns
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)