Sex with a Famous Poet
I had sex with a famous poet last night
and when I rolled over and found myself beside him I shuddered
because I was married to someone else,
because I wasn't supposed to have been drinking,
because I was in fancy hotel room
I didn't recognize. I would have told you
right off this was a dream, but recently
a friend told me, write about a dream,
lose a reader and I didn't want to lose you
right away. I wanted you to hear
that I didn't even like the poet in the dream, that he has
four kids, the youngest one my age, and I find him
rather unattractive, that I only met him once,
that is, in real life, and that was in a large group
in which I barely spoke up. He disgusted me
with his disparaging remarks about women.
He even used the word 'Jap'
which I took as a direct insult to my husband who's Asian.
When we were first dating, I told him
'You were talking in your sleep last night
and I listened, just to make sure you didn't
call out anyone else's name.' My future-husband said
that he couldn't be held responsible for his subconscious,
which worried me, which made me think his dreams
were full of blond vixens in rabbit-fur bikinis.
but he said no, he dreamt mostly about boulders
and the ocean and volcanoes, dangerous weather
he witnessed but could do nothing to stop.
And I said, 'I dream only of you,'
which was romantic and silly and untrue.
But I never thought I'd dream of another man--
my husband and I hadn't even had a fight,
my head tucked sweetly in his armpit, my arm
around his belly, which lifted up and down
all night, gently like water in a lake.
If I passed that famous poet on the street,
he would walk by, famous in his sunglasses
and blazer with the suede patches at the elbows,
without so much as a glance in my direction.
I know you're probably curious about who the poet is,
so I should tell you the clues I've left aren't
accurate, that I've disguised his identity,
that you shouldn't guess I bet it's him...
because you'll never guess correctly
and even if you do, I won't tell you that you have.
I wouldn't want to embarrass a stranger
who is, after all, probably a nice person,
who was probably just having a bad day when I met him,
who is probably growing a little tired of his fame--
which my husband and I perceive as enormous,
but how much fame can an American poet
really have, let's say, compared to a rock star
or film director of equal talent? Not that much,
and the famous poet knows it, knows that he's not
truly given his due. Knows that many
of these young poets tugging on his sleeve
are only pretending to have read all his books.
But he smiles anyway, tries to be helpful.
I mean, this poet has to have some redeeming qualities, right?
For instance, he writes a mean iambic.
Otherwise, what was I doing in his arms.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Sex with a Famous Poet by Denise Duhamel )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(18 November 1939)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
Gerard Manley Hopkins
(28 July 1844 – 8 June 1889)
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
- Tonight I can write the saddest lines, Pablo Neruda
- My Hometown, Ray Hansell
- Christmas Carol, Sara Teasdale
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- Nothing Gold Can Stay, Robert Frost
Poem of the Day
- The law of these times, Ravikumar C.P.
- So Many Minds Are Left Fractured, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- Mystic Blake, Joseph Narusiewicz
- Today's World, Leong Ming Loong
- Thoughts in the Moonlight, Luo Zhihai
- Tales Of A Wife: Honeymoon, Onyekachukwu Vincent Onyeche
- Guard well, gajanan mishra
- The Photographer, Ravikumar C.P.
- Tuavatara!, Ravikumar C.P.
- Mystery Caller, Ravikumar C.P.