It’s not that hard to understand misunderstanding.
It seems so normal, unavoidable, a natural part of things,
It’s just as we’ve been told.
I’m trapped within a time and all my greed
And petty interests (thank you, Mr. Marx)
And the whatever else there is within me
(Thank you, Dr. Freud). The less the mutual overlap
The more we soliloquize each other
Into niches of mutual, uncomprehending oblivion.
What then to make of all those
Words and tones and shapes and colors,
From times and places remotely different from my own,
That flash across my understanding from time to time,
And show me human unities and semblance and sympathy?
Old Dr. Freud still tells me that I cannot look within
And come up with much to trust in; I’m often told
I cannot overcome the contractions to grasp
The gist of you. But I’m telling you that those
Rank strangers understand the heartfelt
In our lives and times far better than
We ourselves can comprehend.
