Reading Simic
I tried balancing a bowl of hot oatmeal on my lap and reading his poems in my tired and
worn, green chair.
On the back cover of a collection, a reviewer wrote “Simic may end a poem with a kiss
or a bludgeon. “
The reader will never know.
Blackjack Fresno Johnny sent me a big box of books of Simic’s poems. The books were sent
in a cardboard box inside of another cardboard box, thoughtfully packed. The address label
read:
To Tom Pitre, Poet.
It is my first affirmation as a poet.
I am always surprised when I read his work. Sometimes I think I have my finger on his
secrets, and then it slips away when I read another one. They are simple. He can write
about an earthworm in the mud, and you will be enchanted.
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