I’m reading Paul Zweig. This is the third poem from his Selected and Last Poems, followed by my response. See the introduction to yesterday’s post for details.
God’s Ledger
by Paul Zweig
You gave me what I didn’t want
And taught me to love it. You fed me
Sweet food, and killed each painful cell…
[Remainder of poem removed 8-23-05]
* * * *
Anti-Psalm
The Lord is my venture capitalist; I shall not wonder.
My mouth scarcely shapes itself into an Owe
& His pen is already busy adding zeroes.
He underwrites my need for better reception.
Who knew I harbored such complex involucres?
He asks for nothing difficult in return:
there’s no soul in receivership, no pain that doesn’t pass —
hard currency of that heaven they harp about.
I am full, full. Beggars get fat on my crumbs.
He gives me something to quench the flames
well in advance of setting me on fire.
He asks for nothing, believe me.
He takes a loss.
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
- Them bones
- The pure distance
- Owed
- Becoming grass
- Fuel
- The fears and pleasures
- Written by the vanquished
- Waiting for the detonation
- Green plague
- That great invention
- To greet the quietness
- Advancing into sleepless woods
- How else?
- What remains
- My life as a landlubber
- Perfect night
- Above the ears, below the waist
- In lieu of listening
- Black stone, yellow field
- City of changes
- The fresh chance
- Greek
- Too much
- A beach in hell
- When it breaks
- The burden of becoming human
- Want
- In slough time
- Sacrifice
- Restoring the words
- String theories
- Parcels of pure voice
- An undulant map
- Stone-blue winter
- Foreign matter
- Wake
- Exodus
- Always present
- A sown darkness
- Night
- Woods and water
- Fish tales
One Reply to “Owed”