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          HAVING IT OUT WITH MELANCHOLY                          =20

          If many remedies are prescribed for an illness,
          you may be certain that the illness has no cure.
  =20

          A.P. Chekhov
          The Cherry Orchard


          1 FROM THE NURSERY

          When I was born, you waited
          behind a pile of linen in the nursery,
          and when we were alone, you lay down
          on top of me, pressing
          the bile of desolation into every pore.
          And from that day on
          everything under the sun and moon
          made me sad=97even the yellow
          wooden beads that slid and spun
          along a spindle on my crib.

          You taught me to exist without gratitude.
          You ruined my manners toward God:
          "We're here simply to wit for death;
          the pleasures of earth are overrated."

          I only appeared to belong to my mother,
          to live among blocks and cotton undershirts
          with snaps; among red tin lunch boxes
          and report cards in ugly brown slipcases.
          I was already yours=97the anti-urge,
          the mutilator of souls.

          2 BOTTLES

          Elavil, Ludiomil, Doxepin,
          Norpramin, Prozac, Lithium, Xanax,
          Wellbutrin, Parnate, Nardil, Zoloft.
          The coated ones smell sweet or have
          no smell; the powdery ones smell
          like the chemistry lab at school
          that made me hold my breath.

          3 SUGGESTION FROM A FRIEND

          You wouldn't be so depressed
          if you really believed in God.

          4 OFTEN

          Often I go to bed as soon after dinner
          as seems adult
          (I mean I try to wait for dark)
          in order to push away
          from the massive pain in sleep's
          frail wicker coracle.

          5 ONCE THERE WAS LIGHT

          Once, in my early thirties, I saw
          that I was a speck of light in the great
          river of light that undulates through time.
          I was floating with the whole
          human family. We were all colors=97those
          who are living now, those who have died,
          those who are not yet born. For a few

          moments I floated, completely calm,
          and I no longer hated having to exist.

          Like a crow who smells hot blood
          you came flying to pull me out
          of the glowing stream.
          "I'll hold you up. I never let my dear
          ones drown!" After that, I wept for days.

          6 IN AND OUT

          The dog searches until he finds me
          upstairs, lies down with a clatter
          of elbows, puts his head on my foot.

          Sometimes the sound of his breathing
          saves my life=97in and out, in
          and out; a pause, a long sigh...

          7 PARDON

          A piece of burned meat
          wears my clothes, speaks
          in my voice, dispatches obligations
          haltingly, or not at all.
          It is tired of trying
          to be stouthearted, tired
          beyond measure.

          We move on to the monoamine
          oxidase inhibitors. Day and night
          I feel as if I had drunk six cups
          of coffee, but the pain stops
          abruptly. With the wonder
          and bitterness of someone pardoned
          for a crime she did not commit
          I come back to marriage and friends,
          to pink-fringed hollyhocks; come back
          to my desk, books, and chair.

          8 CREDO

          Pharmaceutical wonders are at work
          but I believe only in this moment
          of well-being. Unholy ghost,
          you are certain to come again.

          Coarse, mean, you'll put your feet
          on the coffee table, lean back,
          and turn me into someone who can't
          take the trouble to speak; someone
          who can't sleep, or who does nothing
          but sleep; can't read, or call
          for an appointment for help.

          There is nothing I can do
          against your coming.
          When I am awake, I am still with thee.

          9 WOOD THRUSH

          High on Nardil and June light
          I wake at four,
          waiting greedily for the first
          notes of the wood thrush. Easeful air
          presses through the screen
          with the wild, complex song
          of the bird, and I am overcome

          by ordinary contentment.
          What hurt me so terribly
          all my life until this moment?
          How I love the small, swiftly
          beating heart of the bird
          singing in the great maples;
          its bright, unequivocal eye.

          Jane Kenyon


Copyright 1996 by Jane Kenyon.=20
>From Otherwise: New & Selected Poems
<http://www.graywolfpress.org/mainpages/weeklypoems/weekspoem.html>
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