or woman

certain mysteries
are closed forever — such as
why a man accepts
powerlessness, victimhood
and psychiatric treatment

Lately I’ve been noticing that each morning’s effort to shape a poem out of my dreams seems more and more like a confrontation with some vast enormity, impossible to fathom. Something too big to comprehend. The human situation perhaps. Or the unconscious. Maybe every so-called mental illness is a confrontation of this sort. And maybe that’s why psychiatry defeats its patients. The patient says: ‘I am the problem’. And psychiatry says: ‘Yes, you are the problem.’ The dialogue gets no further. It’s an acting out of the defeat of man by the hugeness of his own universe. It will never get beyond acting out, as long as one party in the dialogue (psychiatry) remains unable to acknowledge its own vulnerability, its own defeat, its own powerlessness.


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