wouldn't it be nice?

Billy Collins


Today I had the opportunity to go hear Billy Collins read some of his poetry at BYU. (Note to self: always bring your wallet to a reading, because there will inevitably be a book signing afterward, and I always regret not getting books signed by the author.) I first heard him do a reading of his poetry on A Prairie Home Companion when I was in high school. Even though I think that the experience is heightened when you hear him read his own work, you can read some more of his poetry here.

He read this poem near the close of the reading, and I think that it got the most laughs of the day (except for maybe "Hippos on Holiday," which I can't seem to find):

Litany

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker

and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.
However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.

There is just no way you are the pine-scented air.
It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close

to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.
And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner

nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.
It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,

that I am the sound of rain on the roof.
I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley,

and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.
I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I am not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow-- the wine.