Charles Reznikoff calls the Poetry Crisis Line
Inigo Montoya calls the Poetry Crisis Line
Cerberus
Giorgos Seferis calls the Poetry Crisis Line (illustrated)
Read the original here.
Cattle adapted from cave paintings in Lascaux, France. Warriors adapted from Greek pottery.
If All Poems Were Limericks: “Maybe Dats Your Pwoblem Too” by James W. Hall
Crow calls the Poetry Crisis Line
Crow’s dialogue based on “Examination at the Womb Door” in Crow by Ted Hughes. [and yeah, in the original he’s the one answering the questions, but that would result in a caller who just says “Death. Death. Death.” most of the time.]
Edward Thomas calls the Poetry Crisis Line
COUNSELOR: Poetry Crisis Line, what is your emergency?
CALLER: Rain,
COUNSELOR: I see. Would you like to elaborate?
CALLER: midnight rain,
COUNSELOR: Uh-huh. Anything else?
CALLER: nothing but the wild rain
COUNSELOR: I see. And how is the rain a problem? Is it falling on your hair, or—
CALLER: On this bleak hut,
COUNSELOR: Now we’re getting somewhere.
CALLER: and solitude,
COUNSELOR: Good, and what else?
CALLER: and me
COUNSELOR: Don’t blame yourself, sir. You’re not the problem.
CALLER: Remembering again that I shall die
COUNSELOR: Way to bury the lede, dude.
CALLER: And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks / For washing me cleaner than I have been / Since I was born into solitude.
COUNSELOR: I see. Can you give the rain your thanks now?
CALLER: Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:
COUNSELOR: Or your blessing.
CALLER: But here I pray that none whom once I loved / Is dying tonight
COUNSELOR: Understandable
CALLER: or lying still awake
COUNSELOR: Also thoughtful—but if I had to choose, I’d pick that one.
CALLER: Solitary, listening to the rain,
COUNSELOR: Still a better deal.
CALLER: Either in pain or thus in sympathy
COUNSELOR: No contest.
CALLER: Helpless among the living and the dead,
COUNSELOR: Now you’re getting warmer.
CALLER: Like a cold water
COUNSELOR: Or not.
CALLER: among broken reeds,
COUNSELOR: That could make it hard to play clarinet.
CALLER: Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,
COUNSELOR: Or saxophone. Have you tried wetting them before you play, or—sorry, I’m getting off topic. Is there anyone else you want to bless?
CALLER: Like me
COUNSELOR: If you feel you need it. I was thinking more like…
CALLER: who have no love which this wild rain / Has not dissolved except the love of death,
COUNSELOR: … I don’t know…
CALLER: If love it be towards what is perfect and / Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.
COUNSELOR: … the rains down in Africa?
CALLER: …
COUNSELOR: …
CALLER: …
based on the poem “Rain” by Edward Thomas (1878-1917)
How to Breed Mythical Creatures
Anonymous calls the Poetry Crisis Line (illustrated)
