Jim’s Barn Triptych, Left Panel, Pastel, by John Cummings
I OBSERVE A CRICKET
A fog clouds my eyes.
I vomit in the grass.
My life has come to this.
The stars gaze at me
with disgust. I don’t care.
The stars are long dead.
The moon hangs in the sky
by an unraveling thread.
I watch a cricket
struggle in the grass,
as he overcomes an impasse.
I feel like a fool.
I stagger home
to make resolutions
that I hope might last.
_____________
George Freek
Review by Marc Janssen
There are details in this poem and conclusions that hold almost more question marks as periods. The line that captures me is “The stars gaze at me with disgust” which is brilliant. But then disregarding that disgust because the stars are “long dead.” The juxtaposition of the struggles of the cricket with he struggles of the poems subject, lead to only more questions about if the resolutions will last. We know that the stars will shine on and the cricket will jump away sooner or later, but the subject, what are the chances?
Review by Nathan E. Lewis
It rings true. We can learn self-discipline from nature. It’s amazing how someone three sheets to the wind can focus on one detail and sometimes for the good. Freek captures the loss of wonder that addiction and its side effects cause. A glimmer of hope emerges. Yet any alcoholic knows that a hope founded merely in personal resolutions is a pipe dream. This poem would rock at an AA meeting.
Review by Massimo Fantuzzi
Remaining on the subject of sympathy, this poem has plenty on offer for us all. Leveling with that particular aspect of our personality, let’s say, more fragile, prone to falls and fiascos, this poem tackles the matter of standards and morals, action and condemnation. It speaks to the witnesses of our alleged shame: the stars we see, some of which already dead, their investigative floodlight so incriminating already exhausted at its source, stone cold at its core, already dissolved in a fertile cloud of gas and dust, leaving us free to operate in the shadows. Or our two-faced Moon, demonstrably moving away from us, our dreams and tides hanging on by an ever-thinning thread. No witnesses, no victim (unless we all fall for a mass repentance, which I see unlikely) means no crime. Everything in the shape and texture of the Universe points to deregulation, loosening of the mesh, permissiveness, a free-for-all that is all around and, needless to say, starts from the top, the head of your family, your boss at work, the head of your church, your president. The bar is not lowering or raising because there was never a bar. The gate hasn’t been left unattended, because there was no gate in the first place. God hasn’t stopped keeping score, because it was never his job, and Karma only seems to operate on people who can’t afford medical care, or a lawyer…
Jokes aside, resolutions: we seem incapable of living without them; the thought of being let off the leash, no boundaries, makes us jittery and queasy. Resolve and resolutions, to better ourselves, to offer ourselves a sense of purpose, and more importantly to keep the neighborhood safe (and clean from vomit). It’s our ancestral nature holding the last feeble grip on us, from a time when life was in packs, and the survival of the whole colony depended on the behavior of each individual. Insects. And so we come to tonight’s companion as described in this parable, a small insect capable of greater resilience and sensibility in overcoming obstacles than most of us. While we revere the heroic creature, we don’t really expect him to survive the night and its predators.
Review by Kathryn de Leon
The speaker has had too much to drink, they have perhaps come to a crossroads and realise they have to change. They are so disgusted with themselves that even the stars appear to be disgusted, their life is unraveling. They are somewhat inspired by a cricket who is making progress in an apparent stuggle to get through the grass. It seems the speaker has good intentions but doesn’t seem too sure or determined about changing, to make resolutions that I hope might last sounds rather weak.