What the Dead Know

By Robert Polito b. 1951 Robert Polito

Air here is like the water

Of an aquarium that’s been lived in for a while—clear and still

Beyond the rigors

Of glass; appearing cold (and clear) as spring streams

Fed by snow and ice,

But unexpectedly warm to feel, and inviting; side-lit—

A vitality of shadows

Once you come into it, and long bars of light

Burning like spots,

Remarkable for the absence of dust in their sharp crossfires;

Heavy, as crystal

Is heavy, as if to move here would mean pushing against a force

Palpable, and strong;

Yet rich with prospects of life, comfortable

With the idea of life,

As if, put on its slide, every drop is stocked with wonders,

Swarming, about to burst—

Beautiful in a way,

One element sustaining another, our message brought home

So that the living

Might come to see. Harder to say that without them

We are nothing—

Water without air; or to speak of our isolation,

Or our special loneliness;

Or say as they look right through us, at their plants,

Pictures, books,

Windows, reflections, and blank white walls,

That we need them,

To orient ourselves and to tell us who we are;

Or that with each look

They are swimming to within our sights; or that we are always casting

Wider and wider

And that even now they are fighting to avoid our nets.

Source: Doubles (The University of Chicago Press, 1995)

Biography

Poet and scholar Robert Polito was born in 1951 in Boston, Massachusetts. He earned his PhD from Harvard and has served since 1992 as director of Creative Writing at The New School. On January 23, it was announced that Robert Polito will become the second president of the Poetry Foundation on July 8, 2013. Polito’s collections of poetry include Hollywood & God (2009) and Doubles (1995). His poetry blends narrative and lyric . . .

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