I can’t resist sharing Eileen Myles’s poem “December 9th.” It’s a rumination on sharing a birthday with John Milton, and I happen to share that birthday with both Milton and Myles. I’ve been lucky enough to see Myles read a couple of times in recent months, but I’ve never heard her read this older poem. It begins:
I have the same
birthday as John
Milton. Did
you know that?
So I don’t have to
write long poems about
heaven & hell–everything’s
been lost in my lifetime
& I’m usually blind drunk
and not so serious
either. However…
The poem goes on to make a plea to be comforted by others in one’s old age, a feeling that certainly sneaks in around the edges of each birthday celebration.
At this point in my life, however, being still relatively far from my dotage, I find the poem a tremendous relief. By Myles’s logic, by virtue of my sharing a birthday with her, I can release myself from the imperative to be effortlessly charming and charismatic, and from writing simple yet fascinating essays and poems about my misadventures. What a relief!
Happy Birthday Eileen!
[The rest of this poem can be found in Postmodern American Poetry. Ed. Paul Hoover, New York: Norton, 1994. 554.]
[Also, check out Myles's website at www.eileenmyles.com]