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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=468670" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Alan Dugan Telling Me I Have A Problem With Time</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He reads my latest attempt at a poem<br>and is silent for a long time, until it feels<br>like that night we waited for Apollo,<br>my mother wandering in and out of her bedroom, asking,<br>Haven't they landed yet? At last<br>Dugan throws it on the table and says,<br>This reads like a cheap detective novel<br>and I've got nothing to say about it. It sits,<br>naked and white, with everyone's eyes<br>running over it. The week before<br>he'd said I had a problem with time,<br>that in my poems everything<br>kept happening at once. In 1969,<br>the voice of Mission Control<br>told a man named Buzz<br>that there was a bunch of guys turning blue<br>down here on Earth, and now I can understand<br>it was with anticipation, not sickness. Next,<br>Dugan says, Let's move on. The attempted poem<br>was about butterflies and my recurring desire<br>to return to a place I've never been.<br>It was inspired by reading this<br>in a National Geographic: monarchs<br>stream northward from winter roosts in Mexico,<br>laying their eggs atop milkweed<br>to foster new generations along the way.<br>With the old monarchs gone (I took this line as the title)<br>and all ties to the past ostensibly cut<br>the unimaginable happens--butterflies<br>that have never been to that plateau in Mexico<br>roost there the next winter. . . .I saw this<br>as a metaphor for a childhood I never had,<br>until Dugan pointed out<br>that metaphor has been dead for a hundred years.<br>A woman, new to the workshop, leans<br>behind his back and whispers, I like it,<br>but the silence is seamless, as deep<br>as outer space. That night in 1969<br>I could turn my head from the television and see<br> the moon<br>filling the one pane over the bed completely<br>as we waited for Neil Armstrong<br>to leave his footprints all over it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Nick+Flynn">Nick Flynn</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=468670" data-title="Alan Dugan Telling Me I Have A Problem With Time de Nick Flynn" data-description="He reads my latest attempt at a poem
and is silent for a long time, until it feels
like that night we waited for Apollo,
my mother wandering in and out of her bedroom, asking,
Haven't they landed yet? At last
Dugan throws it on the table and says,..."></div>
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