My Enemies Poem by Daniel Brick
My Enemies
I don't mind my enemies...
They have been bustling around me,
or near me, or lurking in the river valley
across from my estate for ages past counting.
Such is the nature of enemies in our time.
My servants tell me they are massing
on the frontier. Thousands of them, more
arriving each month. But there's laxness
in their formation. They sprawl across the plain,
many of them drunk. No drums are beat, no trumpets sound.
Can you see now why I don't mind them? They are
like the single crow, apart from his murder,
who perches on the apex of my Montaigne House.
Every morning when I enter it, he caws and flaps
his wings. I ignore him and ascend the staircase.
I observe the world and its turnings
from my fourth level study. My books are
treasures equal to my lands. They are maps,
they are recipes, they are laws. Sometimes,
while reading, I look straight up into the sky,
light flashes into my eyes like an illumination...
My servants report my enemies lurk in the shadows
of the wide colonnaded avenue of the marketplace.
They stare at merchants and traders, passers-by
are troubled by their silent gaze. At nightfall,
they retreat into deeper shadows. Others stagger
at the edge of the city. They are not drunk, they are
fevered. They push helping citizens aside, and collapse
into corners and alleys. Our doctors rule out
a return of the Plague. Meanwhile, they collect the dead.
Beyond the safety of the Montaigne House, crows caw
all day every day, thousands still occupy the frontier.
I am in my study, enveloped in shafts of light
that never dim. Things could be much worse. The world
could stop spinning. Stars implode. Rivers flood.
My books burn... I have so much to mind.
People feel threatened by intelligent counterparts that have insight. Of course we must coexist and with an attitude of remorse as well as the feeling of the needleesnesss of this spite. Carry on with a form of aloofness is well advised where their attempts of disturbance. are always futile. The idea of servants as your guiding light gives a humanistic and an aristocatic ring. Thanks for sharing, Paul
So, I just finished reading up on Montaigne. What a great story! Once again, I was caught up in your poetry, but then I had to go search for further understanding. I love the idea of taking on this character's point of view on enemies..as a person who was imbued with the thinking of the Renaissance during a time when people were once again turning away from enlightenment. How interesting that he secluded himself up in an attic library. You have a way of really getting into the heads of these historic figures and trying to understand how they think and playing it out in these beautiful poems. Again, aspects of your writing remind me of the male counterpart to the poet A.E. Stallings. The imagery of the crow was so compelling to me, because of all they represent (intelligence, foreboding, death) , but also because Montaigne had a bird-eye view of his village of his enemies. So well done. Loved this!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/27/2024 11:43:30 PM # 1.0.0.1119
There will always be enemies in all macro/ micro existences. I guess the trick is to triage significant threats on a life-threatening scale and not sweat the small stuff. I can relate to this man's escape immersed in his maps and books. Although fiddling while Rome burns comes to mind,