Grether Labs.

← Love Poems to the World

For Freud

by Morgan S. Grether

"Arguably no other notable figure in history was so fantastically wrong about nearly every important thing he had to say." – Todd Dufresne, LA Times, 2/18/04

One rainy morning over breakfast, yes,
I read it in the LA Times that you
Were wrong on everything you ever did
Or said. I had to stop and let that thought
Sink in; I wondered, as I dropped my spoon
Into my bowl of cereal, just what
It means to fail on such an epic scale,
Herr doktor. You've been laughed at, loved,
Revered, reviled, mocked and worshiped. Life
Was never dull for you in Austria;
Today your name still conjures up a host
Of raw emotions in its hearers, which
Astounds me every time. How can a man
Of nothing but some strange and plodding prose
You sprinkled with some strange and plodding talk
Of sex, society and God still get
Us always fired up? Can such a man
Be wrong on everything? I think you must
Be on to something. Maybe not. My toast
Grew cold, and milk was sogging through my flakes
Of raisin bran. I'd have to leave for work
Quite soon, but wasn't in a hurry now.
I put my foot into a sock and put
That foot into a shoe. I puffed big rings
Of smoke; my morning cigarette was two,
Then three, today. I watched the wretched sky
And asked: how will my life ever compete?
Your level of achievement, good and bad,
Seems more than I could ever reach,
Although I'd like to think I could be right
About at least a thing or two perhaps!

Composed: February 24, 2004