Dear philosophers, I get sad when I think.
Is it the same with you?
Just as I’m about to sink my teeth into the noumenon,
Some old girlfriend comes to distract me.
“She’s not even alive!” I yell to the skies.
The wintry light made me go that way.
I saw beds covered with identical gray blankets.
I saw grim-looking men holding a naked woman
While they hosed her with cold water.
Was that to calm her nerves, or was it punishment?
I went to visit my friend Bob, who said to me:
“We reach the real by overcoming the seduction of images.”
I was overjoyed, until I realized
Such abstinence will never be possible for me.
I caught myself looking out the window.
Bob’s father was taking their dog for a walk.
He moved with pain; the dog waited for him.
There was no one else in the park,
Only bare trees with an infinity of tragic shapes
To make thinking difficult.
— Charles Simic, The Book of Gods and Devils (1990)