From The New Yorker, a poem by Marvin Bell. Bell is the author of more than 16 books of poetry. Notable books of poetry including The Book of the Dead Man (Copper Canyon, 1994) and Ardor: The Book of the Dead Man, Vol. 2. (Copper Canyon, 1997).
The Book of the Dead Man (Vertigo)
by Marvin Bell June 14, 2010
Live as if you were already dead.1. About the Dead Man and Vertigo
—Zen admonition.
The dead man skipped stones till his arm gave out.
He showed up early to the games and stayed late, he played with abandon, he felt the unease in results.
His medicine is movement, the dead man alters cause and consequence.
The dead man shatters giddy wisdoms as if he were punching his pillow.
Now it comes round again, the time to rise and cook up a day.
Time to break out of one’s dream shell, and here’s weather.
Time to unmask the clock face.
He can feel a tremor of fresh sunlight, warm and warmer.
The first symptom was, having crossed a high bridge, he found he could not go back.
The second, on the hotel’s thirtieth floor he peeked from the balcony and knew falling.
It was ultimate candor, it was the body’s lingo, it was low tide in his inner ear.
The third was when he looked to the constellations and grew woozy.
2. More About the Dead Man and Vertigo
It wasn’t bad, the new carefulness.
It was a fraction of his lifetime, after all, a shard of what he knew.
He scaled back, he dialed down, he walked more on the flats.
The dead man adjusts, he favors his good leg, he squints his best eye to see farther.
No longer does he look down from the heights, it’s simple.
He knows it’s not a cinder in his eye, it just feels like it.
He remembers himself at the edge of a clam boat, working the fork.
He loves to compress the past, the good times are still at hand.
Even now, he will play catch till his whole shoulder gives out.
His happiness has been a whirl, it continues, it is dizzying.
He has to keep his feet on the ground, is all.
He has to watch the sun and moon from underneath, is all.
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