It was announced today that one of my favorite living poets, Charles Simic, was named the 15th poet laureate of the United States by the Librarian of Congress. Speaking as a writer and a poetry fanatic, I find this news both delightful and heartening, as Mr. Simic penned what I consider to be the seven greatest lines in all of literature.
An excerpt from his poem, Breasts:
I insist that a girl
Stripped to the waist
Is the first and last miracle,
That the old janitor on his deathbed
Who demands to see the breasts of his wife
For the one last time
Is the greatest poet who ever lived.
It doesn't get any better than that, kids; that poem is not about an old red barn, amber waves of grain, or the plaintive cry of the whippoorwill. That poem is about what it fucking means to be alive.
Congratulations, Charlie. Trust me, right now, more than ever before, the world of American letters needs an O.G. pimp like you to show us the way.
Well done, Old Sport.
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