Monday, June 09, 2008

Those Lights We Call Stars

Going to post one of my favorite Raymond Carver poems today. Back at you tomorrow with something new! Happy Tuesday!


Cigarette smoke hanging on
in the living room. The ship's light
out on the water, dimming. The stars
burning holes in the sky. Becoming ash, yes.
But it's all right, they're supposed to do that.
Those lights we call stars.
Burn for a time and then die.
Me hell bent. Wishing
it were tomorrow already.
I remember my mother, God love her,
saying, Don't wish for tomorrow.
You're wishing your life away.
Nevertheless, I wish
for tomorrow. In all its finery.
I want sleep to come and go, smoothly.
Like passing out of the door of one car
into another. And then to wake up!
Find tomorrow in my bedroom.
I'm more tired now than I can say.
My bowl is empty. But it's my bowl, you see,
and I love it.

Raymond Carver, The Complete Poems


chris said...

Happy Tuesday to you as well.

Me hell bent. Wishing it were tomorro already. Sounds like you have been working to hard.

I want sleep to come and go, smoothly. Live as I have, for the past 19 years and you will never know 4 hours without interuption.

Thank God for the weekends and good live music. Plenty of beer and Jack Daniels on the rocks, The only way to acomplish 8 straight.

I like this one. I will have to look up more of his work tomorro.

I can definately relate to, My bowl is empty. But it's my bowl, you see.

Cheri said...

You went to the Detroit History Museum, eh?

Charles Gramlich said...

I tend to look too much forward to sleep to want tomorrow to come. But Carver is a fine poet of course.

the walking man said...

What is sleep? Does it really serve any purpose anymore? I can't remember if I ever slept much less passed from one day to another now that they are all the same, melded from sunrise to sunrise without break. It is a fine thing to never wish or want anymore than what I am in this moment, wouldn't want the star in my heart to burn to ash. It is the only one that counts to a life within me.

laughingwolf said...

go carver! :)

Mesrey said...

Would the "Anonymous" man who claimed to have played racquetball with my father, Eddie Mesrey, on the day before he died in 1980, please contact me at

Thank you kindly.


Dave Mesrey

Lana Gramlich said...

Nice poem & so true. Thanks for sharing. :)

Anonymous said...