No card I catty, I’m not on a list
identifying just who I might be.
Alone I travel, and I do not exist,
according to the rosters that agree
they have no place for me. Who am I then,
if I’m a fellow traveling alone?
I’m one of those few happy, lonely men
whose only property is thoughts they own.
Inspired by a poem “To The Happy Few, ” by W. S. Merwin, in the NYR, June 12,2008:
To The Happy Few
Do you know who you are
oh you forever listed
under some other heading
when you are listed at all
you whose addresses
when you have them
are never sold except
for another reason
something else that is
supposed to identify you
who carry no card
stating that you are––
what would it say you were
to someone turning it over
looking perhaps for
a date of for
anything tol go by
you with no secret handshake
no proof of membership
no way to prove such a thing
even to yourselves
you without a word
of explanation
and only yourselves
as evidence
6/22/08
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem