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Ok so during my senior year at school my English teacher gave us this poem. It was called Meaningful Love by John Ashbery, and we probably spent about two or three weeks in class probbing this poem to death. In the end we had to write our own poems for him, but the catch was the poem had to include a line from Meaningful Love. After we were finished with our poems, as a class we made like a little scrap book out of our poems and included an about me page. Everyone got a copy of the book and it is one of my favorite things i have to remind me of high school. Nobody probably cares about any of this, but thats ok i just felt the need to share the poem really, but i thought at explaination was in order to understand why i wanted to put the poem in this section. So here it is i hope that you all enjoy it as much as i did and do!







Meaningful Love

By: John Ashbery





What the bad news was



became apparent too late



for us to do anything good about it.







I was offered no urgent dreaming,



didn't need a name or anything.



Everything was taken care of.







In the medium-size city of my awareness



voles are building colossi.



The blue room is over there.







He put out no feelers.



The day was all as one to him.



Some days he never leaves his room



and those are the best days,



by far.







There were morose gardens farther down the slope,



anthilss that looked like they belonged there.



The sausages were undercooked,



the wine too cold, the bread molten.



Who said to bring sweaters?



the climate's not that dependable.







The Atlantic crawled slowly to the left



pinning a message on the unbound golden hair of sleeping maidens,



a ruse for next time,







where fire and water are rampant in the streets,



the gate closed--no visitors today



or any evident heartbeat.







I got rid of the book of fairy tales,



pawned my old car, bought a ticket to the funhouse,



found myself back here at six o'clock,



pondering "possible side effects."







There was no harm in loving then,



no certain good either. But love was loving servants



or bosses. No straight road issuing from it.



Leaves around the door are penciled losses.



Twenty years to fix it.



Asters bloom one way or another.

COMMENTS

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Neinmortlan
10:43 Sep 23 2012

Do you still have yours? The one you wrote for the class?

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