O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
       But O heart! heart! heart!
         O the bleeding drops of red,
           Where on the deck my Captain lies,
             Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up- for you the flag is flung- for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths- for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
       Here Captain! dear father!
         This arm beneath your head!
           It is some dream that on the deck,
             You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
       Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
         But I with mournful tread,
           Walk the deck my Captain lies,
             Fallen cold and dead.

^{translated from the German by James Weldon Johnson}

Three students once tarried over the Rhine,
And into Frau Wirthin’s turned to dine.

“Say, hostess, have you good beer and wine?
And where is that pretty daughter of thine?”

“My beer and wine is fresh and clear.
My daughter lies on her funeral bier.”

They softly tipped into the room;
She lay there in the silent gloom.

The first the white cloth gently raised,
And tearfully upon her gazed.

“If thou wert alive, O, lovely maid,
My heart at thy feet would to-day be laid!”

The second covered her face again,
And turned away with grief and pain.

“Ah, thou upon thy snow-white bier!
And I have loved thee so many a year.”

The third drew back again the veil,
And kissed the lips so cold and pale.

“I’ve loved thee always, I love thee to-day,
And will love thee, yes, forever and aye!”

Der Wirthin Töchterlein

Es zogen drei Bursche wohl über den Rhein,
Bei einer Frau Wirthin, da kehrten sie ein.

„Frau Wirthin! hat Sie gut Bier und Wein?
Wo hat Sie Ihr schönes Töchterlein?“

„Mein Bier und Wein ist frisch und klar,
Mein Töchterlein liegt auf der Todtenbahr.“

Und als sie traten zur Kammer hinein,
Da lag sie in einem schwarzen Schrein.

Der erste, der schlug den Schleier zurück
Und schaute sie an mit traurigem Blick:

„Ach! lebtest du noch, du schöne Maid!
Ich würde dich lieben von dieser Zeit.“

Der zweite deckte den Schleier zu,
Und kehrte sich ab, und weinte dazu:

„Ach! daß du liegst auf der Todtenbahr!
Ich hab’ dich geliebet so manches Jahr.“

Der dritte hub ihn wieder sogleich
Und küßte sie an den Mund so bleich:

„Dich liebt’ ich immer, dich lieb’ ich noch heut,
Und werde dich lieben in Ewigkeit.“

Lana Turner has collapsed!
I was trotting along and suddenly
it started raining and snowing
and you said it was hailing
but hailing hits you on the head
hard so it was really snowing and
raining and I was in such a hurry
to meet you but the traffic
was acting exactly like the sky
and suddenly I see a headline
LANA TURNER HAS COLLAPSED!
there is no snow in Hollywood
there is no rain in California
I have been to lots of parties
and acted perfectly disgraceful
but I never actually collapsed
oh Lana Turner we love you get up

I have eaten 
the plums 
that were in 
the icebox

and which 
you were probably 
saving 
for breakfast

Forgive me 
they were delicious 
so sweet 
and so cold

The week after Thanksgiving and the stores are decked out
for holiday shopping including a TJ Maxx where what was
once too expensive loses its value and attracts us, there is a
store with a big yellow banner proclaiming GIANT BOOK SALE,
a seasonal operation of remaindered books, which doesn’t mean
that the books aren’t good, only that the great machinery
of merchandising didn’t engage its gears in quite the right way
and I buy two books of poetry and am leaving the store, the first snowstorm
of the winter on the way and as I get to the glass double doors
a bearded man with a cane is entering, he has been walking
with a woman who is continuing on to another store and he
has the look that could make him either eccentrically brilliant
or just plain simple and as I open the door and he opens the other side
he turns and says “I love you,” not to me but calling back to his
friend who is departing, only he’s said it looking at me, closest
to me, which is unintended love, random love, love that
should be spread throughout the world, shouted in our ears for free.

I was afraid the past would catch up with me,
would find this new house too like the scarred
old childhood home. But it hasn’t yet. A tree
casts soft and gentle shade over our green yard.
I feel forgiven all the sins I didn’t commit
for long minutes at a time. What were they?
I can’t now think of anything wrong with me—I fit
in these rooms, can mostly agree to each day.
For long minutes I don’t even blame my mother
for dying, my father for spending years in bed.
My little traumas are just souvenirs of other
lives, of places I might have once visited.
I’m mostly a father here, a husband, barely a son.
The big sun rises early here, as I do, with everyone.