One of My Favorite Poems in the English Language

I wanted to share one of my favorite poems in the English language. This would definitely be in any anthology of the Best Poems of the Century That is No More (the 20th) should I create such an anthology. And maybe I will, one of these days, and post it for fun: as a list. The poem I'm referring to is "Who and Each" by Ron Padgett. The joyful talkiness of the New York School is fascinating to listen to, especially when it's written by its younger poets (the most celebrated period occuring when most of the clan were decidedly young) or those who stayed young in spirit even as they aged and passed on (Frank O'Hara, Ted Berrigan). But most of these poets are still here with us, some seemingly more engaged in poetry than others as the aging and wearing years accumulate. Ron Padgett is one of the poets who has stayed thoroughly engaged in poetry and the world. I highly recommend his modestly slim New and Selected Poems.

This poem fascinates me because it shows the same friendly talkative poet we've always encountered in his books, but now the concerns are different, the focus is different, and a life lived in language yields this beautiful elegy for everyone, and particularly for poets. (It's hard to believe that "old reliable" pomo form, the "dictionary poem," could yield such a little masterpiece!) The poem is written in Mr. Padgett's usual friendly, self-deflationary vernacular. The poem seems a microcosm, a tiny crystal ball like the Witch's in The Wizard of Oz, where we watch the poet wander through the Holy Forest of language, marveling at the splendor of its solid ancient trees, the stories implicit or hinted at in growth rings, dendrochronology, the interrelationships of species, etc., but are taken suddenly aback when the poet turns to us at the end of the poem and speaks that most rending couplet, as if he has known we were watching him all along, wandering before us. This poem is a strange kiss goodbye on the forehead of poetry. It often comes back to me.


      Who and Each


I got up early Sunday morning
because it occurred to me that the word
which
might have come from a combination of who and each
and reached for the OED
which for me
(I think of it not
as the Oxford English Dictionary
but as the O Erat Demonstrandum)
has the last word:
"Hwelc, huelc, hwaelc, huaelc, huoelc, hwaelc, wheche, weche,
whech, qwech, queche, qheche, qwel, quelk, hwilc, wilc, hwilch,
wilch, whilc, whillc, whilk, whylke, whilke, whilk, wilke, whylk,
whilk, quilc, quilke, qwilk, quylk, quhylk, quilk, quhilk, hwic,
wic, hwich, wyche, wich, hwych, wiche, whiche, whyche, wych,
whych, which, quiche, quyche, quich, quych, qwiche, qwych,
qwyche, quhich, hwylc, hwulch, hulch, wulc, whulc, wulch,
whulche": Teutonic belching.
  But in little tiny type: "For the compounds gewilc,
aeghwilc, see Each.
Now, if you want to talk belching...
It was raining outside
with the blue-gray hiss of tires
against the wet street
I would soon walk my dog in,
the street I drove an airplane up
earlier this morning in a dream
in which the Latin word quisque appeared to me,
as if it meant each which
in the sea of eisdem, quicumque, and uterque.
Thus I spend my days,
waiting for my friends to die.