Why Live? | When the Bough Breaks by Paul Hunter

JUNE 1997
T H E RAVEN C H R O N I C L E S

`contents`

When the Bough Breaks

Paul Hunter

Why live...why indeed? For the artist the question has a special poignancy, because we often sacrifice the living to the living on -- chasing the ineluctable sirens of immortality. Yeats said we're forced to choose perfection of the life or of the work, implying we can't get both. So what kind of living does the artist get to forego or opt for?

A while back I did an imitation of David Ignatow's famous poem "Rescue the Dead," which tackled the possibilities of the hedonist life, for the artist. (It was published in the Bloomsbury Review vol 7 / Issue 1, Jan-Feb 1987, p. 9)

WHEN THE BOUGH BREAKS

--with respects to David Ignatow

To live is to powerfully indulge
is to signal waiters
once with two fingers
is to open the last bottle
of Chateau Lafitte 1869
to an indifferent sunset
alone in midweek

To live is to sport a hat
and tip it rarely
to live is to salute the living
is to return favors
with lavish interest
is to run up a huge tab
is to retire and blow a bundle

To live is to freely squander
to save is to die is to live on

To live on is to die early
with lapsed insurance
leaving papers and projects
locked in a love nest

To live is to twirl a shovel
about gravedigging
is to wear armbands and whistle
is to pull up a chair
and feed black appetites

To live on is to drop watches
is to air bad teeth with a smile
is to have one's eyebrows
feathers and curlecues
singed by the careless truth

To live is to be tasted
to live on is to be spit out
to live swallowed digested
to live on choked down
the length of the animal
and buried at last with gross indignity

My belly grumbles and turns on me
my nest dissipates in a high wind
you who are well fed
let go and live on

And one other thought about why live. In this environment-conscious moment in history, we can't help but examine the question also as one of survival of the species, in its ethical viability as well as its biological stability. Here we grind merrily along at the expense of all other species, predator to the end, crowding out other life forms even when we don't wish to any more. I'm not suggesting mass suicides as an alternative, since the cures are all around us. To live more lightly, to be present as if absent, moving barefoot at the edges.

© The Raven Chronicles 1997

JUNE 1997		T H E RAVEN C H R O N I C L E S

`contents`		When the Bough Breaks Paul Hunter Why live...why indeed? For the artist the question has a special poignancy, because we often sacrifice the living to the living on -- chasing the ineluctable sirens of immortality. Yeats said we're forced to choose perfection of the life or of the work, implying we can't get both. So what kind of living does the artist get to forego or opt for? A while back I did an imitation of David Ignatow's famous poem "Rescue the Dead," which tackled the possibilities of the hedonist life, for the artist. (It was published in the Bloomsbury Review vol 7 / Issue 1, Jan-Feb 1987, p. 9) WHEN THE BOUGH BREAKS --with respects to David Ignatow To live is to powerfully indulge is to signal waiters once with two fingers is to open the last bottle of Chateau Lafitte 1869 to an indifferent sunset alone in midweek To live is to sport a hat and tip it rarely to live is to salute the living is to return favors with lavish interest is to run up a huge tab is to retire and blow a bundle To live is to freely squander to save is to die is to live on To live on is to die early with lapsed insurance leaving papers and projects locked in a love nest To live is to twirl a shovel about gravedigging is to wear armbands and whistle is to pull up a chair and feed black appetites To live on is to drop watches is to air bad teeth with a smile is to have one's eyebrows feathers and curlecues singed by the careless truth To live is to be tasted to live on is to be spit out to live swallowed digested to live on choked down the length of the animal and buried at last with gross indignity My belly grumbles and turns on me my nest dissipates in a high wind you who are well fed let go and live on And one other thought about why live. In this environment-conscious moment in history, we can't help but examine the question also as one of survival of the species, in its ethical viability as well as its biological stability. Here we grind merrily along at the expense of all other species, predator to the end, crowding out other life forms even when we don't wish to any more. I'm not suggesting mass suicides as an alternative, since the cures are all around us. To live more lightly, to be present as if absent, moving barefoot at the edges.
		© The Raven Chronicles 1997