Emily Sernaker

March 17, 2022

“Lucky Enough” by Emily SernakerPosted by

Emily Sernaker

LUCKY ENOUGH

“If you’re lucky enough to be Irish,
you’re lucky enough.”
—Irish proverb

Isn’t it grand to know the Irish
are out there saluting magpies,
braiding St. Brigid crosses,
calling their meat “fuckin gorgeous,”
calling idiots “fuckin eejits!”
driving on the left side of the road
over a bridge shaped like a harp
in a city dotted with statues
of literary heroes where even taxi drivers
sound like historians spouting lessons
about Kilmainham Jail, Michael
Collins, the whole place understanding
how they got there, the whole
day open like a guitar case
loaded with tips from busking,
an afternoon tilt like a perfect pint,
in a land with good chocolate
and no snakes, where airport
security stamps your passport
with green ink after the pilot
says: A Hundred Thousand Welcomes!
over the intercom, where strangers
ensure your success in finding
the Armagh church your great great
grandparents were married in,
old stones and stuffed rain
clouds, violins and rhubarb,
Claddagh rings turned taken
or free, yellow flowers sprawling
hills of Howth, Wicklow
waterfalls, walks you’ll revisit
in dreams, like that massive
lake spanning across St. Stephens
where swans actually glide
toward one another, bumping
heads, making a heart
with their necks?

—from Rattle #67, Spring 2020

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Emily Sernaker: “I’m grateful for the Irish—their stories, songs, humor, and heart—and think fondly of them, especially around St. Patrick’s Day.” (web)

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October 22, 2017

“Now, When I Think About Women” by Emily SernakerPosted by

Emily Sernaker

NOW, WHEN I THINK ABOUT WOMEN

I think about Aziz Ansari’s Netflix special
where he asked the ladies in the crowd
how many had been followed—not cat-called—
actually followed down the street
by a man, many blocks, and how nearly
half of Madison Square Garden raised
their hands. I was home raising my hand,
thinking of moments in multiple cities,
how it was suddenly time to be scared.
Now, when I think about women,
I think about educated men who ask
if we secretly love being hollered at.
Don’t you kind of enjoy the attention?
Isn’t it flattering? It is 2017 and my best
friend says: a man in a car pulled up
beside me as I was bicycling, he was
jerking off to me, at me, I froze,
had to force myself to start pedaling
away. Last October, I consoled
my most enthusiastic canvassers: girls
who were chased and assaulted while
trying to get out the vote for the first
female president. Now, when
I think about women, I think about violence
and the threat of violence, how it’s like
an alarm inside going from zero to blaring.
The week I moved to New York
a girl my age went for a run.
People said it was her fault for dressing
that way, for taking that path. The article
said there was evidence of a struggle:
that before she died she bit her attacker
so hard her teeth cracked.

—from Poets Respond
October 22, 2017

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Emily Sernaker: “This poem was written in solidarity with ‘Me, too’ and takes its cue from the Julia Alvarez poem ‘Now, When I Look at Women.’”

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July 3, 2017

“I Have Confidence” by Emily SernakerPosted by

Emily Sernaker

I HAVE CONFIDENCE

Before every job interview, I think
of Julie Andrews swinging her suitcase,
singing “I have confidence”
in The Sound of Music.
She really psyches herself up
in that silly hat, clicking her heels
beside a yellow wall; body diagonal
in the air with hope. The Red Cross
lobby had big marble displays,
hands chiseled holding onto each other.
I liked the interviews there, all that
Clara Barton history, plans for unplanned
catastrophes. It was a big change
from the San Francisco start-up.
Oak boardroom table, one
of those rooftop views, vending machines
with Guinness and chocolate milk.
The Bay Area was looking good:
cats named Billie Holiday,
quilts spread over Dolores Park.
Everyone was eating kale, handing me
drinks in mason jars. I had a hotdog
in New York. Sat in the Marc Chagall
conference room of a Refugee Relief Agency.
Because you guys resettled him right?
It was a terrific story. Fifty Americans saved
2,000 artists, intellectuals from the Nazis.
Their board member went on Ed Sullivan,
convinced the public to help more.
That group eventually hired me
but not for a few years and not
in that city. How fast can you input data?
You look like you’re waiting
for the principal’s office. All I trust
I lead my heart to. All I trust becomes
my own. I have confidence
in confidence alone. A bird shit on me
in Manhattan. I wiped it off,
was still wearing a black dress in a big city.
I bought a slice of cheesecake,
used an old student ID for a nosebleed ticket
on Broadway. The audience was full
of student choirs. One boy couldn’t help it:
as we were taking our seats,
he sang a few lines of
“I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.”
He just wanted to hear
what his voice sounded like,
reverberating through a place like that.

—from Rattle #55, Spring 2017

[download audio]

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Emily Sernaker: “I will always be glad to have a Coke with Frank O’Hara, pump gas beside Dorianne Laux, listen to Li-Young Lee’s father tell a story. Poetry teaches me precision and offers clarity. There is nothing else like it.”

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March 23, 2017

“Lawrence Ferlinghetti Is Alive!” by Emily SernakerPosted by

Emily Sernaker

LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI IS ALIVE!

I say, to a man in the drug store
check-out line not completely
out of nowhere. He’s wearing
a black and white City Lights shirt
with Lawrence’s handwriting.
Do you know Ferlinghetti? I ask
thinking of that baseball canto
poem: how does it start? Watching
baseball, eating popcorn, sitting
in the sun, reading Ezra Pound …
Yes I do! Is he still alive?
And what a gift that I get to
say the good news.
An old man is alive
in San Francisco, with all of its
pop-ups and start-ups
there is still poetry. The breeze
of the bay is tipping his black
fisherman’s hat forward. A man
who telegrammed
Ginsberg asking: When
do I get the manuscript?
A man who went to trial,
gets small voices printed
even still. Not just
poems, not just paintings,
not just space. Listen.
An old man who lives
in a little apartment
is taking his daily
walk where birds break
at the crest of the park.
Dogs run off their leashes.
The sun won’t go down
for hours. I swear to God
there are good ways
to live this life.

—Poets Respond
March 23, 2017

[download audio]

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Emily Sernaker: “Lawrence Ferlinghetti is celebrating his 98th birthday this Friday. I’m a fan.”

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