Poetry
November 4th, 2010
Everyone’s written a poem or two. In my early 20s, I wrote a lot. Yeah, I was the guy who toted around a copy of the concise OED and set it next to my clipboard with stacked empty pages, filling them slowly, turning them over, and refreshing my English breakfast tea every couple hours. Like many, writing helped shape my thoughts about myself and the world around me — my living, vital, dynamic quality. I don’t claim any of it is any good; actually, most of it is in the range of bad to so-so. If you’re just going to peek, I recommend diving into the 1998-2001 range: ErikBarryErhardt_poetry_selected.pdf.
Erik,
I ran into Professor Cervo last week and he asked if I was still reading poetry. I’m glad to have read your work, reflecting upon those days. I still have your hard copies from 1998 tucked away.
Reading your words, I can smell the English breakfast in the air, feel the rush of the wintry air as another patron enters the coffee shop. It’s been 12 years, man. Is that girl behind the counter with the too-hip-for-you haircut ever going to crack a smile?