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David C. Fischer, drawing literary inspiration from his
stagnant social life in Fjord, Wisconsin, where he had
recently become a resident, published a poem entitled
“I Am Glum.”
In four stubby, unrhymed lines, Fischer observed
that when a person’s mood grows dark, his social
contacts may as a consequence diminish. This stanza
was followed by its mirror image, another four short
lines presenting the proposition that when a person’s
circle of friends constricts in size, that person’s mood
may in consequence descend into deeper gloom.
These musings mercifully ended without showing
a circle shrunken to a point of pointlessness nor
a dark mood deepened to an everlasting black.
The poem, while not particularly profound, promptly
provoked comment from two acquaintances of the
poet. The first, an English professor living in another
state, sent a note. “If the ‘I’ is in fact you, Dave, please
don’t be glum...,” he said. With reason and reassurance
he expressed support. The second, a wise Wisconsin
woman imperfectly patient with moody and self-pitying men,
also wrote. Declining to give morose Mr. Fischer a pass, she
reviewed his poem apothegmatically in a half-dozen words:
“You are being a horse’s ass.”
♦
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