Sometimes I picture your face on money.
But this isn't Rome, where they know
what money's worth, which is almost
the paper it's printed on (a kind of art),
...
Simmerman was born in Boulder, Colorado, in 1952. He received his MFA in Poetry from University of Iowa in 1980. He was Regents Professor of English at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, Arizona, where he led poetry writing workshops and served as an advisor to the literary journal Thin Air. He took his own life on June 29, 2006 in Flagstaff, Arizona after a long illness. His poems have appeared widely in journals (Antæus, Georgia Review, North American Review, Ploughshares, Poetry), anthologies (The Bread Loaf Anthology of Contemporary American Poetry, The POETRY Anthology 1912-2002, Pushcart Prize X: Best of the Small Presses), and textbooks (Literature: Reading, Reacting, Writing; Thirteen Ways of Looking for a Poem: A Guide to Writing Poetry; Western Wind: An Introduction to Poetry); and his poetry writing exercise "Twenty Little Poetry Projects" generated the anthology Mischief, Caprice, & Other Poetic Strategies (Red Hen Press, 2004), edited by Terry Wolverton. He is also co-editor, with Joseph Duemer, of Dog Music: Poetry about Dogs (St. Martin's Press, 1996).)
The Eternal City
Sometimes I picture your face on money.
But this isn't Rome, where they know
what money's worth, which is almost
the paper it's printed on (a kind of art),
and where I stared what seemed eternity
into a guidebook, lost, side-skipping
pigeon past, motorbikes, and swarms
of gypsy tykes excavating the ruins
of tourists' pockets, until I stumbled
onto the Temple of the Golden Arches-
McDonald's!- and across the piazza,
the Pantheon.... Inside, third niche left,
alone a moment with the Ossa et cineres
of Raphael, I thought of you; "put it all
in the poem" was your advice so, okay,
here you are! - among the camcorders,
cell phones, retired gods, and a pair of
kings - rumpled, broke, and amused
as you were the Green Mountain morning
you asked: among us who was writing
for posterity?, and one of us knew. Bill,
I haven't paid you your due, but need
another favor: could you please undie
so I can buy you the glass of good
rosso in the Eternal City I owe you?
William Matthews, poet and teacher (1942 - 1997)