Thomas Fink
Thomas Fink is the author of 11 books of poetry—most recently A Pageant for Every Addiction (Marsh Hawk P, 2020), written collaboratively with Maya D. Mason, Hedge Fund Certainty (Meritage P and i.e. P, 2019) and Selected Poems & Poetic Series (Marsh Hawk P, 2016)—as well as two books of criticism, and three edited anthologies. His work appeared in Best American Poetry 2007. His paintings hang in various collections. Fink is Professor of English at City University of New York-LaGuardia.
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GAMBLER’S VERTIGO
I couldn’t help smiling at
the lipstick smile on my
wineglass. Watching the slimy lizards
among the ruins of the
old fort. Many of them
were delicious in the role.
Yes, there was a sort
of refuge which always comes
with the prostration of thought
under an overpowering passion. They
had their initials significantly embroidered
on their underclothing. That vice
went out of fashion long
ago. There was no indication
that human beings had ever
dwelled there. A human nose
appeared in the dark doorway.
Several times he looked fixedly
up at the ceiling from
which he derived all his
inspiration. Sends an imaginary object
flying. His face is a
blank picture of bewilderment which
he never thought of disguising.
Out of habit, if nothing
else. A ceaseless tattoo on
a darkly muffled drum. Beside
the interminable talk of ailments.
Having come to the conclusion
that what he was doing
was nonsense. A sorry ghost
animated by someone else’s genius.
I can feel the floor
shake when he walks on
it. He should really have
a cane. And his whole
face seemed smeared with oil
like an iron lock. Blocking
my view the whole way.
How eager everything was to
go wrong around one. He
took the envelope out of
his pocket. The zoning goes
against little roadside businesses like
mine. A rising sulfur reek
of sewage. Where her hut
had been, they found the
hill covered with weeds and
bramble. Is that the hook
in his mouth? All 9
legs are shivery and goosepimpled.
It’s just such seeming trifles
that we’ve got to take
seriously. Smiles full of decayed
teeth. May I venture, honored
sir, to engage you in
polite conversation? He knew the
gambler’s vertigo. A depth of
moral isolation too remote for
casual access. I was glad
when my father took me
to task for my muddy
boots. The past offers no
lesson which I am willing
to heed. It serves to
make the basement a friendlier
place. The jackals must have
taken it; curse them. She
clutches her money to her
breast. Nothing remained but her
ability to gape. Now nature
was subverted. The donkey is
not ours. A swift current
compels us to move farther
up the beach. But what
about regular plain folks who
were born in those places
and never left? The world
outside their own direct experience
was a region of vagueness
and mystery. They stand in
the marketplace with a basket
of fish and curse everyone,
whether customers or not. Each
night I awake from dreams
that I’m not even allowed
to think about. They dashed
into the dark shadow of
the trees. The actual words
remain unuttered—in the silence
of the unconscious. The money
was paid and her character
established. She would rather be
burned alive than humiliate anyone.
We’re not lobbies or elevators.
Cordial wishes for your prosperity.
She held a powdered hand.
Sit right down and thaw
out. The animal in your
pocket will soothe your fingers.
The mystery and sunshine had
congealed on my palms. People
go into hiding when no
one is looking for them.
Why not risk one’s little
point of view? You quite
understand without requiring me to
specify. I guessed simply from
your eyes. Empty your pockets
of the pretty coins that
will soon buy you nothing.
Nostalgia is fatiguing and destructive.
Can any epitaph be adequate
repartee? Has a dead man
any use for money? His
face about the color of
blotting paper. Every story you
would like to tell has
already ended before you can
open your mouth. You have
lost your freckles and golden
skin. The trap door. You
left it open. Didn’t you?
Thomas Fink is the author of 11 books of poetry—most recently A Pageant for Every Addiction (Marsh Hawk P, 2020), written collaboratively with Maya D. Mason, Hedge Fund Certainty (Meritage P and i.e. P, 2019) and Selected Poems & Poetic Series (Marsh Hawk P, 2016)—as well as two books of criticism, and three edited anthologies. His work appeared in Best American Poetry 2007. His paintings hang in various collections. Fink is Professor of English at City University of New York-LaGuardia.
