Tim Suermondt

September 8, 2011

“Graduation” by Tim SuermondtPosted by

Tim Suermondt

GRADUATION

All the things the young will do and see
that I never will.
All the things I’ve seen and done
that they never will—the trade-off
seems fair.
I walk down the block,
the elms lined up
like they are on inspection—
“Those shoes need more shine,
Suermondt,” the sun hanging
over my shoulder as if it cares.

—from Rattle #34, Winter 2010

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Tim Suermondt: “The day after a February snow storm the sun came out, and I watched a group of high school students standing on the street corner, all of whom would soon have to face ‘the real world’ and all that that entailed. And despite the years between us, I felt like those teenagers: ready to go—damn the disappointments and worse. And like me, they’d learn to hang in and even occasionally triumph.” (web)

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May 28, 2010

“The Valid Clumsiness of Roses” by Tim SuermondtPosted by

Tim Suermondt

THE VALID CLUMSINESS OF ROSES

“Are those for me?”
the woman asks the man
who’s standing stupidly
in the doorway,
holding the red roses.

The man wants to say
“No, they’re for the Super—
of course they’re for you!”
but he merely
hands her the roses
and says: “Who else?”

The woman invites him in—
“These deserve something special,”
and she disappears
into a blue bedroom.

The man sees a painting—
a couple together
on a park bench,
both of them staring
in a different direction.

“Boy, I’ve seen this before,”
the man says to himself
and he knows
that were either
able to remember the other
many years from now—

the memory would be free
of fanfare, quiet
as confetti falling
on the moon.

“Do you like it?”
she woman asks,
showing a green vase
loaded with roses.

“It’s almost pretty as you,”
the man says,
and he thinks he meant
to say just that.

—from Rattle #23, Summer 2005

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Tim Suermondt: “What else is an Executive Recruiter of Stockbrokers to do but write poems? Seriously, I’m not sure exactly why I write poems. I think Stanley Kunitz had it right when he wrote that poets don’t know why they write poems any more than a cat knows why it scratches a tree. I do know that I’ve done a lot of scratching, with pleasure, on the poetry tree and if the Muse sticks with me, I’ll do even more.” (webpage)

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