[John Riley]

Know Nothing

My head exploded today—or was it night?—flung
all I will never know across four walls and left me
to stare at the patterns and ribbons as my ignorance,
twirled and intertwined like cosmic clouds meeting
planets working to emerge from swirling dust,
or blooming the way yellow daisies boom across
meadows in spring only to turn brown in the cold,
or the way blood flows into puddles and dries
as crows eat carcasses of horses murdered by guns
and arrows gathered in quivers hoisted by men
content with weapons too feeble to control the future.

[Jim Moonan]

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The imagery alone is a surreal scene of time lapsing into one timeless moment: that moment which opens the poem. That big bang that disorients as it invents, warps as it condenses an Armageddon into being a bad dream. The language, the sonics, the rapid movement from scene to scene, line to line, the growing chorus of despair — is all expressed in one big exhausting breath of despair.

I thought maybe the daisy imagery was not compatible with everything else going on. But then I thought better. That's the point of the poem, I think: everything is going down the drain. the natural world, the human species, our consumptive culture, our penchant for killing, our hubris, me, you, the smallest cell of life — all going down the drain. If there is hope, it's nowhere to be found in the poem. (But personally, I think there's hope hiding.)

I like the ferocity of the poem's tenor. No lamentation. It's a fiercely worded diatribe. Condensed to the point of explosion. It's a explosive poem that I hope reflects despair vs. the truth.

I never feel comfortable stepping in first. I wonder what others will think.


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[James Brancheau]

Hey John—I like this, the energy and the surprising images that unfold. It’s kind of like different ways to begin, or begin again. I’m not quite sold on the title—it reminds me of the Know Nothing party, haha, which I’m quite sure is just my nuttiness. “I Know Nothing” might be better, and more interesting for me as that close could be interpreted as a criticism of humanity, pointing out the pointless crimes of humanity. An effort to absolve oneself of it, deny responsibility perhaps… Or maybe you don’t want that idea to be so prominent in this poem…

Anyway, some smaller stuff. “ribbons” confuses me—don’t know what that is referring to, and would “of” my ignorance be better there? Should it be “held” in quivers ? And I’m wondering about the word choice of “hoisted,” which I think is usually used when talking about heavier things. Maybe I’m misunderstanding what’s going on there. I like the close, though I think “held in quivers” might do just a touch more for the ending. But that’s probably a small thing, too—a nuance. That’s all I got for now. Enjoyed.

[Ashley Bowen]

Hi, John,

I've read this several times, and I would have to say that I enjoy the second half the poem more than the first.

I've never felt comfortable with poems in which the speaker is uncertain of circumstances like what happens in the first line. That's probably just me.

I also struggle with how the exploded head, which would leave the speaker dead, would still have the capacity to stare. Wouldn't the speaker be dead?

I also struggled with "never know" as if seems like it would be everything the speaker would know. Maybe I'm missing something.

Is there a word missing before "flung"?

I wonder if another title might be stronger.

Forgive me, but I made a suggested edit.

My head exploded and flung all I will ever know
across the walls and left the patterns and ribbons
of my ignorance twirled and intertwined
like cosmic clouds meeting planets working to emerge
from swirling dust, the way yellow daisies boom across
meadows in spring only to turn brown in the cold,
or the way blood flows into puddles and dries
as crows eat carcasses of horses murdered by guns
and arrows gathered in quivers hoisted by men
content with weapons too feeble to control the future.


Again, I found much to like in this. I'm glad for the change to read and consider this one.

[John Riley]

Thanks. I wanted to write a little poem about clearing my head of the things I think I know. What is its value in the end.