[Lady Sidhe]

There's one I read in college--our poetry instructor used it as a bad example, but of course, I liked it. It's called, "Life, Friends, is Boring." My box of poetry is MIA, so until I find it, let's see if I can remember the poem:


John Berryman


Dream Song 14

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) "Ever to confess you're bored
means you have no

Inner Resources." I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as Achilles,

who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into the mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.


I really identified with this poem, because I get bored very easily.

Sidhe