Athazagoraphobia
Fear of Being Ignored
I used to bury plum pits between houses. Buried
bits of wire there too. Used to bury matches
but nothing ever burned and nothing ever thrived
so I set fire to a mattress, disassembled a stereo,
attacked flies with a water pistol, and drowned ants
in perfume. I pierced my eyebrow, inserted
a stainless steel bar, traded that for a scar in a melee, pressed
tongue to nipple in a well-lit parking lot, swerved
into traffic while unbuttoning my shirt–
There is a woman
waiting for me to marry her or forget her name
forever–whichever loosens the ribbons from her hair.
I fill the bathtub for an enemy, lick the earlobe
of my nemesis. I try to dance like firelight
without setting anyone ablaze. I am leaning over
the railing of a bridge, seeing my face shimmer
on the river below–it’s everywhere now–
Look for me
in scattered windshield beneath an overpass,
on the sculpture of a man with metal skin grafts,
in patterns on mud-draggled wood, feathers
circling leaves in rainwater–look. Even the blade
of a knife holds my quickly fading likeness
while I run out of ways to say I am here.
–Jamaal May
This poem is from May’s collection Hum, which won the 2012 Beatrice Hawley Award. The poem was also published in the Indiana Review. The collection itself considers man as a machine, and the book is anchored by six phobia poems. “Athazagoraphobia: Fear of Being Ignored” is the first phobia poem in the collection.
This poem is a laundry list of the things we do to draw attention to ourselves. Sometimes we do these things on purpose, and other times, we don’t realize what we’re doing, but, especially in today’s society, there’s this ache to be noticed. Of course, it’s one thing to be noticed simply by one’s family, friends, and peers, and it’s something completely different to be noticed by the world at large. It’s also very hard to understand why we want attention or why we fear being ignored. One could almost argue that by today’s standards, we’re taught that any attention is good because it means people are paying attention, but I am not sure that’s always true. The poem captures the way it feels to be overlooked, regardless of who is overlooking us.
I like how this poem, as well as other poems throughout the collection, pinpoints the things that make us vulnerable. It’s not easy to admit our fears, particularly one like the fear of being ignored, because it opens us up to criticism; it increases our chances of getting hurt. The speaker in this poem is very honest about the things he’s done to gain attention: burying things, burning items, piercings, public sexual encounters, and on and on. At the same time, he’s reflective about why he does these things and why he’s afraid of being ignored, and this is the heart of the poem. If we’re ignored, then no one is paying attention to us and no one will remember us when we’re gone. The core of this collection rests in the existential crisis. What happens when we “run out of ways to say I am here?”
I really love what May does with sound in this poem. There’s a lot of rhyme within the stanzas, like “matches” and “mattresses,” “stereo” and “pistol,” “enemy” and “nemesis,” and “overpass,” “grafts,” and “mud-draggled.” There is a clear rhythm in the poem, and I think it works to accentuate the vulnerability of the speaker.
I also really love some of these line breaks and the way the lines function individually. For me, the most intriguing lines are “but nothing ever burned and nothing ever thrived,” “of my nemesis. I try to dance like firelight,” “in patterns on mud-draggled wood, feathers,” and “circling leaves in rainwater–look. Even the blade.” The lines are broken in unexpected places, which keeps us reading on.
The poem is also organized in an interesting way. If you just glance at it, it looks like three stanzas, but it’s not. It’s one long poem. There are two lines that stick out on the right hand side, and I think that is to give the reader a moment to breathe. This is a heavy poem, so we need a little bit of a pause, but we don’t want to break into completely new stanzas because we want to keep the rhythm going. It’s also interesting to see the two lines that stick out on the right hand side: “There is a woman” and “Look for me.” It’s almost like the speaker is, via this poem, still begging for attention.
I really recommend this entire collection. I know I’ll be examining these poems more closely for quite a while.
-S
