Poem Hunter
In The Middle Of The Night
FB (1925 / Chicago)

In The Middle Of The Night

Poem By Fred Babbin

In the middle of the night
I can write
and write and write
and write and write
Until I have exhausted
all my thoughts
And put them into verse.

Versifying is my sickness
But it gives me such a quickness
that I don’t get in
any other way.

All this poetizing makes me
Altogether nauseous, crazy -
And I feel that I’m addicted
To this frenzied way of writing
That I can’t ignore.

It seems to me a demon’s tapping
on my shoulder whispering, “more, more! ”
I must satisfy this demon
with another written score
(Score? My poetry is music
to the ear if you can hear
the rhythm)
of the poetry that will fill
it’s greedy gaping maw.
It must be satisfied and leave me
in the peace I need (believe me)
almost more than anything
I need until the next verse comes.

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Comments (1)

You sound like Billy Collins. His notebook has wings and flys over his bed at night. Tom