(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939 / County Dublin / Ireland)

Imagining Defeat

She woke me up at dawn,
her suitcase like a little brown dog at her heels.

I sat up and looked out the window
at the snow falling in the stand of blackjack trees.

A bus ticket in her hand.

Then she brought something black up to her mouth,
a plum I thought, but it was an asthma inhaler.

I reached under the bed for my menthols
and she asked if I ever thought of cancer.

Yes, I said, but always as a tree way up ahead
in the distance where it doesn't matter

And I suppose a dead soul must look back at that tree,
so far behind his wagon where it also doesn't matter.

except as a memory of rest or water.

Though to believe any of that, I thought,
you have to accept the premise

that she woke me up at all.

User Rating: 4,8 / 5 ( 17 votes ) 16

Other poems of BERMAN (13)

Comments (16)

Here the simple lines capture the story of an Irish legend, Angus the god of water, and the endless search for beauty
The pangs of love marvelously woven in a beautiful verse that is rich in rhythm and rhyme.
The brilliant moon and all the milky sky, And all that famous harmony of leaves, Had blotted out man's image and his cry. A girl arose that had red mournful lips And seemed the greatness of the world in tears... A superb creation of poetry. I enjoyed readng it.
terrific imaginary poem.........i like much...........i always love you
I love this poem! My favorite of Yeats, but this is the wrong version- not at all like the one I had read in an anthology, and not nearly so beautiful.
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