Exit Exam (by Dean Young)
Exit Exam (by Dean Young)
Original Text
Dean Young, Primitive Mentor (Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2008). This
poem is reproduced on the Griffin Prize Web Site (from a volume on the 2009 International Shortlist).
1Difficult to believe what hurts so much
2when the cement truck bounces you
3off a tree trunk
4is not solid knocking solid
5but electron cloud repulsing electron cloud
6around the overall emptiness of matter,
7a clash of miniscule probabilities
8in the beehive of the void.
9Somehow you’re only scratched and bruised
10but the driver’s in agony,
11no license no immigration paper
12a picture of his wife still in Oaxaca
13five kids he sends money to
14so you try to assure him you’re okay
15look not hurt
16hopping foot to foot
17which only seems to him
18you’ve got trauma to the head
19or were already loco
20either way problemo.
21Your bicycle bent,
22he lifts it tears in his eyes
23which are mirrors showing everything
24on fire in black water.
25This is the universal language of bent bikes,
26something large and tragic writ in small words
27while the world burns in black water.
28Nothing will repair it
29is not true
30but now is not the time to bring that up.
31You are both golden
32pepperoncinis in the vinegar of life.
33So piquant, so sad.
34There is a wound where you bonked against the tree
35and the tree, as usual, deals with its injuries
36in good humor.
37A bird in its branches had just come to life,
38hideously bald, eyes unopened bulging sacks,
39too delicate, too helpless
40yet there is a concept of the cosmos forming
41in its tiny skull. It gapes and mother
42regurgitates nutritious worm.
43It grows a black miter and blue belly.
44Nest formation, a couple false starts then presto!
45It calls its mate radiant toy.
46Its mate calls back radiant toy.
47It gets trapped in the science building for an hour.
48Still, it understands no more
49than we do that voice coming toward us
50in our dented sorrow, our dark dread
51saying everything will be okay.
52Bright opening bright opening
53where does it come from?
54How can we get there?
55And if we do
56will we be petrified or dashed to even smaller pieces,
57will we be released from the wheelhouse
58or come back as hyena or mouse,
59as a cloud or rock
60or will it be sleep’s pure peace of nothingness?
RPO poem Editors
Ian Lancashire
RPO Edition
2011