If I Were a Masochist
“Keep yourself out of your poems.”
(Original Version)
If I were a masochist I would keep myself out of my poems.
I would still write about my bad year.,
But I wouldn’t give myself credit for it.
I would keep myself out of that bad year.
I would suffer in silence.
The I, like the you of the imperative sentence, would be silent.
---- from “The Essence of Seventh Grade: A Kind of Autobiography” (Alien Buddha Press)
---- first published in “The Broken Plate”
If I Were a Masochist
“Keep yourself out of your poems”
(Re-envisioned)
If I were, I would
still write (but good)
about I and my.
But I’d kind of lie.
True, I’d never write “me”
(by official decree).
And I’d humbly comply
and never write “my”.
Instead I’d write “you”.
That’s what I’d do.
And furthermore
I’d replace “my” with “your”.
And of course, but of course
I’d replace “mine” with “yours”.
Yes, I’d give you the credit.
That’s how I’d edit.
With a hearty laugh and a mischievous grin
I’d keep me out and put you in.
I’d jump for joy, I’d smile, I’d savor.
And then, might you return the favor?
Sad poems, glad poems, love poems, war poems --
may I then put myself in YOUR poems?
Well, you say it’s imperative
not to be in one’s own narrative.
You say it’s critical
that the personal not be political.
And mandatory
not to tell your own story.
Yes, you’ve solemnly sworn
not to blow your own horn.
So with an easy heart and a joyous shout
you could put me in and keep you out.
Yes, put me in yours, I’ll put you in mine.
We’ll be proper poets ‘til the end of time.
By intelligent design
our fates would entwine
dandy and fine
line by line.
Together we’d suffer.
Together we’d buffer.
(I’d have it rough, you’d have it rougher.)
You’d take my bad year
(and I’d send you some cheer.)
I’d take your bad day
(send condolences my way).
Together we’ll write
with all of our might
whatever we like
on a first-person strike
yes, moanin’ and cursin’
in second person.
And at every sentence
we’d do some repentance
for going astray
then do it, anyway.
In silence no more.
In noise we’d roar.
Together we’d kvetch. Together we’d scream.
Together we’d write what we both would mean.
© 2020 Marion Deutsche Cohen
Marion Deutsche Cohen is the author of 31 collections of poetry or memoir; her latest poetry collections are “The Essence of Seventh Grade: A Kind of Autobiography” (Alien Buddha Press), “The Project of Being Alive” (New Plains Press, AL), and “The Discontinuity at the Waistline: My #MeToo Poems” (Rhythm and Bones Press, PA). She is also the author of two controversial memoirs about spousal chronic illness, a trilogy diary of late-pregnancy loss, and “Crossing the Equal Sign”, about the experience of mathematics. She teaches a course she developed, Mathematics in Literature, at Drexel University, as well as a new course, Societal Issues on the College Campus. Other interests are classical piano, singing, Scrabble, thrift-shopping, four grown children, and five grands. Her website is marioncohen.net.
30 for 30 is sponsored by Potomac Review
