The first time I
read John Berryman I was impressed with his sense of humor and with
the self-deprecation in his confessional poetry. I thought, "What
a great outlook he has on life." Then I learned he had killed
himself. He jumped off the Washington Street Bridge in Minneapolis.
Into the Mississippi River. (I always imagine people who jump from
bridges regret it mightily on the way down.) It was jarring news,
jarring in a way such news rarely is for me. Usually, news of the
death of a famous stranger doesn't move me much. And in this case I'd
come to Berryman late, so the death was decades old. But it was the
nature of it, I guess, the contrast between the despair in the act
and what I'd interpreted as his healthy confrontation with his demons
in the poetry. Berryman was an alcoholic. Eventually I read his
novel, Recovery, about being in rehab, and I got a sense of
the hopelessness, loss and pain he must have felt, and perhaps the
powerlessness over his condition. I also read his joyful and singular
books on Shakespeare and Stephen Crane, and more and more of his
poetry, all the time thinking about how prolific he was, in act and
mind, despite the pain he must have been in. What can I say about
this poem but that I love its tone.
A Prayer After
All
Father, Father, I am
overwhelmed.
I cannot speak
tonight.
Do you
receive me back into Your sight?
It seems it must be
so, for
strangely the Virgin
came into my mind
as I stood beside my
bed --
whom I not only have
not worshipped
since childhood, but
also
harsh words have
said of, that she pushed her Son
before his time as
come
which he rebuked her
for, and leaving home
repudiated hers &
her --
and for no reason,
standing in the dark
before I had knelt
down
(as is my custom) to
speak with You, I found
my tongue feeling
its way
thro' the Hail Mary,
trying phrase by phrase
its strangeness, for
the unwelcome
to my far mind
estranged, awaiting some
unacceptable sense,
and
Father I was amazed
I could find none
and I have walked
downstairs
to sit and wonder.
You must have been Theirs
all these years, &
They Yours,
and now I suppose I
have prayed to You after all
and Her and I
suppose she is the Queen of Heaven
under your greater
glory, even
more
incomprehensible but forgiving glory.
