Poetry by James Cummins

I Am Critick

I am Critick, hear me roar,
in dudgeon too high to ignore,
and I know too much to go back to East Bend.
Oh, I’ve slept with Tweedledee,
now I’ve got my Ph.D—
no one’s ever making me go down again!
O-oh, yes, I am wise—
see the letters by my name!
But oh, I’ve paid a price,
and I know just who[m] to blame.
If I have to, I can read anything!
I am strong, I’m not invisible,
I am Critick.

I’m the queen of rave and rant,
I get every travel grant,
there’s no conference in the world that’s out of reach.
I can deconstruct a poem,
give my cats a happy home—
and in meetings I’m respected when I preach!
O-oh, yes, I am wise—
all my students tell me so!
But oh, I’ve paid a price:
I’ve had to study Stowe.
If I have to, I can teach anything!
I am strong, I’m not invisible,
I am Critick.

When The Conversation’s done,
they’ll see I am ‘Number One’—
I’ve been cited in a work on Benjamin!
I get calls out the wazoo,
I called Susan Sontag “Sue”—
that she wouldn’t let me meet her was so mean!
O-oh, yes, I am wise—

my book jacket claims the moon!
But oh, I’ve paid a price:
I’ve lunched with Harold Bloom.
If I have to, I can fake anything!
I am strong, I’m not invisible,
I am Critick.

The Most Boring Man

At last I am more
boring than the most
boring man at work.
I see panic in his eyes,
as he’s washing up.
I’ve entered the restroom
with a friendly smile
and the charming start
to a garrulous tale:
he’s gone like a shot.
I chuckle and piss.
Oh, the years of listening,
caught in the beam
of another’s high regard
for his riveting life …
Handholding, counsel:
no more the talking cure
driving me insane!
I am the most boring
now, and it only took
learning how to share.