Poetry Monday

the first paragraph is the poem as I orginally read it several years ago, the second part is more of it that I found online today.

Subjective Pronoun Me, Stephen Bohler

Petrified was on top of Fears station
clinging to the edges and looking in all directions.
Cruel was burying Despair in the sand,
and when Anxious began to push me up to help Despair
Vengeful held me back
Dreary came over and laydown next to me.
Nervous kept yelling at Curious to stop going so far into the ocean.


Baffled watched Inspired build a beautiful sandcastle.
Selfish was busy stuffing sand into his pockets.
Crafty seemed to be making some kind of submarine out of seashells . . .
All this I watched (Attentive made me) quietly under a palm tree . . .
My emotions returned to me one by one as I slept in the warm sun.
Confused wanted to be last, but he was finally coaxed in before Calm returned."


I first read this poem in Rolling Stone magazine several years ago. The article was about the death of Stephen Bohler, an NYU freshman. I read an article online that described him as a popular kid-a juggler, a diver, a poet, always dashing uptown to play soccer in Central Park. He was a liberal, a vegetarian, a conscientious objector. He wanted to write a book called My Life As a Non-Fighter, and talked about it in a school essay: "I have not begun the book, but I have not really lived my life," he wrote.
The day that he died, he had taken psilocybin mushrooms a hallucinogen which robs anyone of any judgment to speak of. Stephen fell or jumped off the balcony of the NYU library right in front of some of his friends. The coroner ruled this death an accident rather than a suicide but opinion differs on whether or not Stephen killed himself intentionally or had taken so many drugs he was out of his mind. Students at NYU created a tribute to him and other student who had died: A vast collage of yearbook-style tributes hangs on a cinder-block wall"-you're my hero, because you brought your own Tabasco to college." Maybe he thought he was just playing around, but the thing is that powerful drugs don't play. They also don't discriminate: Men, Women, Sisters, Brothers, Fathers, Friends, Poets, jugglers, people are going to write books, people who's lives haven't begun get high enough to walk off buildings, literally and figuratively. Some don't, though, some get help, which is out there, thanks be to God.

I didn't mean this one to be so depressing, because it really is about the poem which I think is creative and clear and lovely. Ani Difranco has a song lyric that says, I'm 31 flavors and then some. This poem clearly describes the flavors of our personality and how they interact with each other. I was in high school when I read this for the first time and tore it out of the magazine of the people I was babysitting for and have kept it ever since. This is beautiful, self-reflexive, with strong images and personification. Subjective Pronoun Me, Thank you Stephen Bohler.