Titular Poem

An ars poetica of sorts

Like most bookish folk, I have accumulated more books on my shelves than I have actually managed to read. Several months ago I began a project to rectify this, at least on my poetry shelf, by reading through the titles (alphabetically) I hadn’t yet picked up. This has already led to some quality reading and unexpected discoveries. For instance, I found Borges to be far duller than anticipated, and, conversely, Gwendolyn Brooks to be far more interesting. Halfway through the single title of Billy Collins that was on the shelf (Aimless Love) I immediately purchased every other book of his I could find. He is the reason I’m mentioning all this in this in the first place. The poem below was directly inspired by his style.

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Titular Poem

We’ve reached it—the poem
for which the whole collection
was named. The Christmas Day
of poems, on which the sun

rises and does not rise 
the same way, 
which we all sense, just as 
this ink and paper presents

a poem and a Poem.
Here it is, and here,
too, the author, saying—
this is what it’s all about, 

and this poor creature 
of lines and stanzas
becomes useful, penned in, 
never again to be freely encountered

as a bend in a trail through 
a forest might reveal it, 
halted, as you are,
in sudden revelation.

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