The Sun woke me this morning loud
and clear, saying "Hey! I've beentrying to wake you up for fifteenminutes.Don't be so rude, you areonly the second poet I've ever chosento speak to personallyso why
aren't you more attentive? If I couldburn you through the window I would
to wake you up.I can't hang aroundhere all day.""Sorry, Sun, I stayedup late last night talking to Hal.""When I woke up Mayakovsky he wasa lot more prompt" the Sun said
petulantly."Most people are upalready waiting to see if I'm goingto put in an appearance."I triedto apologize "I missed you yesterday."
"That's better" he said."I didn'tknow you'd come out.""You may be wondering why I've come so close?"
"Yes" I said beginning to feel hotand wondering if maybe he wasn'tburning meanyway."Frankly I wanted to tell you
I like your poetry.I see a lot
on my rounds and you're okay.Youmay
not be the greatest thing on earth, but
you're different.Now, I've heard somesay you're crazy, they being excessively
calm themselves to my mind, and othercrazy poets think that you're a boring
reactionary.Not me.Just keep on
like I do and pay no attention.You'llfind that some people always willcomplain about the atmosphere,either too hotor too cold too bright or too dark, days
too short or too long.If you don't appear
at all one day they think you're lazyor dead.Just keep right on, I like it.And don't worry about your lineage
poetic or natural.The Sun shines on
the jungle, you know, on the tundra
the sea, the ghetto.Wherever youwereI knew it and saw you moving.I waswaitingfor you to get to work.And now that you
are making your own days, so tospeak,even if no one reads you but meyou won't be depressed.Noteveryone can look up, even at me.Ithurts their eyes.""Oh Sun, I'm so grateful to you!""Thanks and remember I'm watching.It'seasier for me to speak to you out
here.I don't have to slide down
between buildings to get your ear.
I know you love Manhattan, butyou ought to look up more often.And
always embrace things, people earth
sky stars, as I do, freely and withthe appropriate sense of space.That
is your inclination, known in theheavens
and you should follow it to hell, if
necessary, which I doubt.Maybe we'llspeak again in Africa, of which I too
am specially fond.Go back to sleepnow
Frank, and I may leave a tiny poemin that brain of yours as my farewell.""Sun, don't go!"I was awakeat last."No, go I must, they're calling
me.""Who are they?"Rising he said "Some
day you'll know.They're calling to you
too."Darkly he rose, and then I slept.