Here you will find the Poem Against The Evidence of poet David Ignatow
As I reach to close each book lying open on my desk, it leaps up to snap at my fingers. My legs won?t hold me, I must sit down. My fingers pain me where the thick leaves snapped together at my touch. All my life I?ve held books in my hands like children, carefully turning their pages and straightening out their creases. I use books almost apologetically. I believe I often think their thoughts for them. Reading, I never know where theirs leave off and mine begin. I am so much alone in the world, I can observe the stars or study the breeze, I can count the steps on a stair on the way up or down, and I can look at another human being and get a smile, knowing it is for the sake of politeness. Nothing must be said of estrangement among the human race and yet nothing is said at all because of that. But no book will help either. I stroke my desk, its wood so smooth, so patient and still. I set a typewriter on its surface and begin to type to tell myself my troubles. Against the evidence, I live by choice.
