The Daily Racing Form

On my last day at the DRF,
Aman, the Iranian manager,
celebrated with sandwiches.

I had tech-written data control
for Phoenix and Lexington.

I had documented source code
to parse a half-million horses.

Until then none knew I "wrote."

And Taiwanese Robert confessed:
he preferred programs to people,
since computers are dependable.

And Sean from Beijing lamented:
only the rich had time for poems,
how great to do what you wanted.

And Aman spoke fluent English,
but did not "feel" English poems.

And his daughter read Persian,
but algebraic Khayyám "lost" her.

And Aman corrected my stressing
of Rubáiyat, whose quatrains, he said,
are like quadratic equations.

And Rumi, he said, had said
that we are pieces of God.

And so, on my last day, I learned poetics.

As on each day, to and from work,
the train light on the white wall tiles
had taught me briefly of the light.

How each might face transcendence.

Hugh Seidman
Somebody Stand Up and Sing
2004 Green Rose Prize
New Issues Poetry & Prose

Copyright © 2005 by Hugh Seidman.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.

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