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No Song I Know

By Joyce Carol OatesPosted Wednesday, March 8, 2000, at 3:00 AM ET

in homage W.C.W. 1914

If while the Symposium continues
& the avid speakers speak & the list-
eners in folding chairs listen
without me, unwanted & slunk
away last night like a kicked dog,
& the sun above Covington has burst
like an egg yolk
splendid on this chill March morning—
if I, excluded, run in sunshine
high above the shining choppy river—
away from pavement & gravel & onto grass
worn from winter, & storm-debris underfoot
& my legs muscled & swift & unerring,
arms swinging in relief knowing nothing
of hurt or Guess they put you in your place!—
if, head high & stunned
at the ease of joy—
why am I surprised?

"How happy to be unwanted!
How good to be alone!
I am best so."

Wild forsythia like yellow flame.
A bird sweetly singing, no song I know.

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Joyce Carol Oates is the author of Broke Heart Blues and of the novel Blonde. Her recent poetry publications have been in the Paris Review, the Yale Review, and The New Yorker, as well as Slate.

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