THE BEST WRITTEN WORDS FOR DEALING WITH SHITTY DAYS: Poem “17”
17 by Bob Dylan
after crashin the sportscar
into the chandelier
i ran out t the phone booth
made a call t my wife. she wasnt home.
i panicked. i called up my best friend
but the line was busy
then i went t a party but couldnt find a chair
somebody wiped their feet on me
so i decided t leave
i felt awful. my mouth was puckered.
arms were stickin thru my neck
my stomach was stuffed an bloated
dogs licked my face
people stared at me an said
“what’s wrong with you?”
passin two successful friends of mine
i stopped t talk.
they knew i was feelin bad
an gave me some pills
i went home an began writin
a suicide note
it was then that i saw
that crowd comin down
the street
i really have nothing
against
marlon brando
***
The above text is reproduced from the original article published on The New Yorker Magazine in their September 22, 2008 issue. Credit where its due.
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THE BEST WRITTEN WORDS FOR DEALING WITH SHITTY DAYS: Short Story “Little Things”
Little Things by Raymond Carver
Early that day the weather turned and the snow was melting into dirty water. Streaks of it ran down from the little shoulder-high window that faced the backyard. Cars slushed by on the street outside, where it was getting dark. But it was getting dark on the inside too.
He was in the bedroom pushing clothes into a suitcase when she came to the door.
I’m glad you’re leaving! I’m glad you’re leaving! she said. Do you hear?
He kept on putting his things into the suitcase.
Son of a bitch! I’m so glad you’re leaving! She began to cry. You can’t even look me in the face, can you?
Then she noticed the baby’s picture on the bed and picked it up.
He looked at her and she wiped her eyes and stared at him before turning and going back to the living room.
Bring that back, he said.
Just get your things and get out, she said.
He did not answer. He fastened the suitcase, put on his coat, looked around the bedroom before turning off the light. Then he went out to the living room.
She stood in the doorway of the little kitchen, holding the baby.
I want the baby, he said.
Are you crazy?
No, but I want the baby. I’ll get someone to come by for his things.
You’re not touching this baby, she said.
The baby had begun to cry and she uncovered the blanket from around his head.
Oh, oh, she said, looking at the baby.
He moved toward her.
For God’s sake! she said. She took a step back into the kitchen.
I want the baby.
Get out of here!
She turned and tried to hold the baby over in a corner behind the stove.
But he came up. He reached across the stove and tightened his hands on the baby.
Let go of him, he said.
Get away, get away! she cried.
The baby was red-faced and screaming. In the scuffle they knocked down a flowerpot that hung behind the stove.
He crowded her into the wall then, trying to break her grip. He held on to the baby and pushed with all his weight.
Let go of him, he said.
Don’t, she said. You’re hurting the baby, she said.
I’m not hurting the baby, he said.
The kitchen window gave no light. In the near-dark he worked on her fisted fingers with one hand and with the other hand he gripped the screaming baby up under an arm near the shoulder.
She felt her fingers being forced open. She felt the baby going from her.
No! she screamed just as her hands came loose.
She would have it, this baby. She grabbed for the baby’s other arm. She caught the baby around the wrist and leaned back.
But he would not let go. He felt the baby slipping out of his hands and he pulled back very hard.
In this manner, the issue was decided.
***
“Little Things” from Where I’m Calling From: The Selected Stories Atlantic Monthly Press, 1988. Copyright © 1988 by Tess Gallagher.
The story appeared as “Mine” in Furious Seasons And Other Stories Capra Press, 1977 and as “Popular Mechanics” in What We Talk About When We Talk About Love Knopf, 1981.
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THE BEST WRITTEN WORDS FOR DEALING WITH SHITTY DAYS: Poem “Me and Her Outside (No No Man)”
Me and Her Outside (No No Man) by Steven Jesse Bernstein
It is midnight and the sunglasses twirl
my injuries a deaf plant warped
in a Hollywood rockery
of juice cans and hypodermic needles
You’re so cool baby you don’t know what you need
If the jaundice comes up
get out of the traffic.
THE BEST WRITTEN WORDS FOR DEALING WITH SHITTY DAYS: Short Story “How Was It To Be Dead?”
How Was It To Be Dead? by Richard Ford
The exact status of my marriage to Sally Caldwell requires, I believe, some amplification. It is still a marriage that’s officially going on, yet by any accounting has become strange—in fact, the strangest I know, and within whose unusual circumstances I myself have acted very strangely.
THE BEST WRITTEN WORDS FOR DEALING WITH SHITTY DAYS: Poem “This Be The Verse”
This Be The Verse by Philip Larkin
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.
***
*It is important to note that these verses were composed in iambic tetrameter!
AL
From the book “High Windows” published by Farrar, Straus & Giroux (c) 1983.
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THE BEST WRITTEN WORDS FOR DEALING WITH SHITTY DAYS: Poem “Interview”
Poem Interview by Manuel Bandeira
Life that dies that subsists
fickle, ludicrous, grasping, vile
defiled !
If some reporter one day
asks me:
“What is the most lovely thing you find
in this thankless world?”
I won’t hesitate; I’ll
tell him:
“Most lovely?
I don’t know. But the saddest by a mile -
the saddest is a woman -
any woman with child.”
***
From the book “This Earth, That Sky: Poems” published by University of California Pr (c) (April 1989).
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