On My Problems

By LOREN GOODMAN

I’m the kind of guy who when there’s a problem, I like to get on it. I don’t like the problem to get me, I like to get it. When there’s a problem, I face it—I don’t let it faze me. You could say I like to faze it. I like to face my problems and take care of them, I don’t let them take care of me. So when there’s a problem, I’m the kind of guy who addresses it immediately. If I don’t know my problem’s address, I find it out, and I go there without warning. My problem could be sleeping—don’t matter, I go there without calling, without giving my problem any heads up. I like to catch my problems unprepared in that way. And if my problem is prepared, so much the better. I like to face my problems at their best. That way, they have no excuse. I don’t want my problems to get the better of me, and I don’t want to consider them as problematic in any way.

 

LOREN GOODMAN is the author of Famous Americans, selected by W. S. Merwin for the 2002 Yale Series of Younger Poets, Suppository Writing (2008), and New Products (2010). He is an associate professor of creative writing and English literature at Yonsei University / Underwood International College in Seoul, South Korea, and serves as the UIC Creative Writing Director.

Purchase Issue 14 here.

Debbie WenOn My Problems

Related Posts

feature

Poetry and Democracy: Part Two

MEGAN FERNANDES
White people don’t like when
you say:
white people.
White people
like to remind you
that you are Indian, not black.
Black people
never say that to you.

skyline

Three Torabully Translations

KHAL TORABULLY
Only a gashed murmur of gangue / remains at this crossroads of salts. / I notice the sharp-edged tattoo / of a forked harpoon when my memory festers. / In the black of dawn, pure métisse, / my uprooted flesh will no longer give respite to exiles. / And my life’s only protector is Death.

feature

Poetry and Democracy: Part One

Lawrence Joseph and Vievee Francis
He will dream/ into existence a raft, a rocket, a fort of mud./ From a cloud/ a gift of horses./ From the sandcastle and moat,/ kingdom and cause. Every boy knows he is a lone king,/ that above hover dragons/ from which he cannot withdraw