Jumper Poem by Hugh Cobb
Jumper
Standing on a ledge ten stories up
wind rips at clothing & flesh,
a tiger's claws. Hair blown to hell.
None of it matters at all.
Nothing matters but the hundred feet below
& a tiny patch of concrete
soon to be filled with blood & brains &
the crushed shell of a depressed life.
One last look out, then down.
Thighs compress for launch:
a three second freefall into salvation.
(Copyright 3/1/2006)
Simply brilliant. Punchy rhythm. Horrific content perfectlly captured and expressed as if blase.
chilling rendering of 'before-the-moment.' intense.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/17/2024 1:00:04 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Hugh, I don't think you're capable of writing a bad poem! This is powerful stuff, never shying away from truth, no matter how ugly - and all the more potent for it. I think all of us can relate to this on some level - even if we don't want to admit it. Hugs Anna xxx