The American poet Elizabeth Bishop often wrote of how placesâboth familiar and foreignâlooked, how they seemed. Here Marianne Boruch of Indiana begins her poem in this way, too, in a space familiar to us all but made newâmade strangeâby close observation.
Hospital
It seems so--
I don't know. It seems
as if the end of the world
has never happened in here.
No smoke, no
dizzy flaring except
those candles you can light
in the chapel for a quarter.
They last maybe an hour
before burning out.
And in this room
where we wait, I see
them pass, the surgical folk--
nurses, doctors, the guy who hangs up
the blood drop--ready for lunch,
their scrubs still starched into wrinkles,
a cheerful green or pale blue,
and the end of a joke, something
about a man who thought he could be--
what? I lose it
in their brief laughter.
American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2006 by Marianne Boruch, whose most recent book of poetry is âGrace, Fallen from,â? Wesleyan University Press, 2008. Poem reprinted from âTriQuarterly,â? Issue 126, by permission of Marianne Boruch. Introduction copyright © 2009 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.
Hospital by Marianne Boruch: American Life in Poetry #155 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
written byTed Kooser
© Ted Kooser