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Brian Trimboli
THINGS MY SON SHOULD KNOW AFTER I’VE DIED
I was young once. I dug holes
near a canal and almost drowned.
I filled notebooks with words
as carefully as a hunter loads his shotgun.
I had a father also, and I came second to an addiction.
I spent a summer swallowing seeds
and nothing ever grew in my stomach.
Every woman I kissed,
I kissed as if I loved her.
My left and right hands were rivals.
After I hit puberty, I was kicked out of my parents’ house
at least twice a year. No matter when you receive this
there was music playing now.
Your grandfather isn’t
my father. I chose to do something with my life
that I knew I could fail at.
I spent my whole life walking
and hid such colorful wings.
–from Rattle #29, Summer 2008
62 Responses to “ “Things My Son Should Know After I’ve Died” by Brian Trimboli ”
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Pingback from Additional Pushcart Nominees » RATTLE: Poetry for the 21st Century
March 4th, 2009 at 3:24 pm[...] to Brian Trimboli and Bruce Cohen — their poems “Things My Son Should Have Known Before He Died” and “The Jerry Lewis Telethon,” respectively, have been nominated for the [...]
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Pingback from Additional Pushcart Nominees » RATTLE: Poetry for the 21st Century
March 4th, 2009 at 3:24 pm[...] to Brian Trimboli and Bruce Cohen — their poems “Things My Son Should Have Known Before He Died” and “The Jerry Lewis Telethon,” respectively, have been nominated for the [...]
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Pingback from Almost Cured of Misogyny, Still Have a Cough » Timothy Green
March 17th, 2009 at 12:41 pm[...] three days after “Death and Tacos” went viral, so did Brian Trimboli’s “Things My Son Should Know After I’ve Died.” Thanks to the pair, we’ve been cruising along at 10,000 visitors a day and pushing [...]
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Pingback from Yovia Pros and Cons of StumbleUpon
March 23rd, 2009 at 12:56 pm[...] Obama with a lightsaber then I don’t particularly care about “101 Zen Stories” or “Things My Son Should Know After I’ve Died” Make no mistake I am not belittling the StumbleUpon experience since on average I can view [...]
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Pingback from My Bout wiht ADD and StumbleUpon @ Stumble! Stumble!
March 23rd, 2009 at 1:42 pm[...] Obama with a lightsaber then I don’t particularly care about “101 Zen Stories” or “Things My Son Should Know After I’ve Died” Make no mistake I am not belittling the StumbleUpon experience since on average I can view [...]
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Pingback from Top 15 Poems on Rattle.com | Timothy Green
June 26th, 2009 at 8:05 am[...] “Things My Son Should Know After I’ve Died” by Brian Trimboli (69,999) [...]
March 10th, 2009 at 3:49 pm
your son ought to express a great deal of pride for being your son when receiving such a revealing poem about his father. KUDOS my dear sir.
March 10th, 2009 at 3:50 pm
“I spent my whole life walking and hid such colorful wings.” is a fantastic line.
March 11th, 2009 at 6:13 am
This is beautiful. From the beginning to the end, it’s amazing.
Your son should genuinely be so proud to have you as his father.
March 12th, 2009 at 4:49 pm
amazing
made me smile
March 12th, 2009 at 10:27 pm
Gave me shudders… I never get those.
March 13th, 2009 at 6:41 am
That was Brilliant!!!
March 14th, 2009 at 2:31 pm
That was great. Very well done. I don’t even know you and it was truly moving. Hats off to you.
March 15th, 2009 at 10:01 pm
that was touching man
March 16th, 2009 at 10:06 am
Sappy Sappy Sappy……. you people can`t be serious.
March 16th, 2009 at 6:54 pm
that was simply beautiful. I sent it to my son.
March 16th, 2009 at 9:01 pm
“Every woman I kissed,
I kissed as if I loved her.”
This is potent and powerful. Must your son wait until your death to learn these things?
March 17th, 2009 at 9:41 am
Beautiful.
Wish I knew you…
March 17th, 2009 at 11:16 am
Your son should receive this before you die!
Absolutely.
March 17th, 2009 at 9:02 pm
I wish I were your son.
March 17th, 2009 at 10:30 pm
I wish I were male so I could be your son.
March 17th, 2009 at 11:17 pm
Tired, dull, and sentimental is no way to go through life, son. And it never makes for good poetry. Just because you’ve slowed down long enough to put an overworn series of thoughts into your own words doesn’t mean it’s any good. Valuable to you and your kid, no doubt (and I give you props on that), but trite and cloying for the general population–except for those who are aching to have their own kids and have similarly predictable feelings and write similarly dull lines.
No offense.
March 18th, 2009 at 7:18 am
I wish I knew you.
March 18th, 2009 at 11:56 am
100% chance that many fathers will ask this to be read to their sons, postmortem.
March 18th, 2009 at 1:03 pm
Indeed a beautiful thing…. made me write a letter to a hypothetical daughter myself… (i’m still a college student)…. i wish she’ll like it as much as the lucky kid who’ll keep this note of your’s with him till the grave….
March 18th, 2009 at 1:41 pm
i cried when i read this, and the music played on….
March 18th, 2009 at 1:42 pm
wept, actually.
March 18th, 2009 at 3:44 pm
i wish i didn’t know you.
March 18th, 2009 at 4:58 pm
A lovely mix from a broken mirror. Very potent.
Difficult to know what to say, what to serve behind.
Nothing beats personal contact, an opening of feelings and a hug.
The meaning re time links of your ‘No matter when you receive this/ there was music playing now’ escapes me. But then who really can understand another through the meager morsels of words?
March 18th, 2009 at 9:38 pm
i am readying for a ceremony where i will finally bury my father and i hear through the place in my belly closest to where your words hit the voice of your soul. thank you for caring so much about your son, my son, all sons that you would share this miracle. i am grateful and awestruck.
March 18th, 2009 at 9:47 pm
I feel sorry for the son. This poem is worthless. Let me throw random sentences onto a page and then mix up some syntax. Yay poetry. Rambling is not poetry.
March 19th, 2009 at 4:37 am
Nice one!
March 19th, 2009 at 11:49 am
So sad that some people reject poetry simply on the basis that it IS poetry … yes, I’m talking to you, Publius.
this is beautiful.
March 19th, 2009 at 12:33 pm
Beautiful
March 19th, 2009 at 3:04 pm
your beautiful words seems to belong together in these sentences and that, my friends, is poetry. Bravo!
March 19th, 2009 at 3:38 pm
I thought this poem/letter to your son was very touching. You write very well. What saddens me, however, is the comments from “Uisgea,” and “Publius.” Perhaps it is because these two people do not know how it feels to love someone, or to be loved by a father or anyone else. I hope you do not allow these two who lack emotion curtail your future writings.
God Bless
March 19th, 2009 at 3:49 pm
I think there is something powerful in that “My left and my right hand were rivals” is placed where it is. Something about tenderness and self-conflict and the consequences of being alive and young.
March 20th, 2009 at 8:20 am
i totally agree with uisgea. this isn’t THE SHIT, this is just plain (…)
March 20th, 2009 at 2:36 pm
absolutely beautiful…all our sons and daughters should know us so well…not the stuff they think they see and know, but the things we own in our hearts
March 20th, 2009 at 5:52 pm
I think its sad that you never learned to fly,but the poem is wonderful. Hopefully your son will learn to fly and not walk all his life.
March 20th, 2009 at 8:24 pm
Stumbled Upon this poem… very nice. Makes me want start writing again… thanks
March 21st, 2009 at 10:37 am
This was positively beautiful.
It gave me goosebumps.
Powerful, raw, and potent. Please continue writing. You have a wonderful gift.
March 21st, 2009 at 1:37 pm
Doesn’t even rhyme.
March 21st, 2009 at 3:23 pm
Good work. Didn’t really like the cliche’ at the end but it looks like your audience really digs them (typical of net poetry, sadly.) Would be interested to see more. Also, Publius is an idiot.
March 22nd, 2009 at 3:42 pm
What if his son googles him and finds this poem?
March 22nd, 2009 at 9:28 pm
has anyone read Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close??
March 23rd, 2009 at 3:30 am
This is clearly photoshopped. I can tell by the pixels.
March 23rd, 2009 at 12:25 pm
Uisgea, Publius, Jyrk…all the detractors with nothing good to say–where are your poems? Why aren’t you publishing your work somewhere where others can read and judge?
It’s easy to criticize, and incredibly hard to put yourself out there by creating something for all the world to see. It’s also easy to know when those who can’t create wish they could.
March 23rd, 2009 at 4:28 pm
Whatever man!you are not saying anything new … come on..
March 23rd, 2009 at 6:17 pm
your last line is pretentious in context, it belongs in a different poem where it could afford some meaning instead of just wah
thank you for having a comment box
remember everyone,
the internet needs your input
March 26th, 2009 at 7:25 pm
dude, i wish i knew you… kind of.
March 27th, 2009 at 12:57 am
Does anyone know where that place is to buy books? It’s my first time here and I’m lost. I think it’s in South America. Or it’s named after something there at least. I would just fly around and find it, but you see I’m in a net. I’m just a little confused, but it’s my first time like I said, I’m a virgin to this net…THE net.
March 28th, 2009 at 8:52 am
LOVELY
March 29th, 2009 at 10:59 am
Beautiful poem
March 31st, 2009 at 12:17 am
Absolutely fantastic write my friend. You spoke truth in a way that has to be admired.
April 1st, 2009 at 6:45 pm
Beautiful.
Your words are touching, friend, and I feel as if we shared a soulful moment.
Peace to you.
Kistra
PS: Amusing that such sentiment can evoke staunch, critical thought in others who fail to understand.
April 10th, 2009 at 8:47 pm
Andrew and I agree it’s creepy hearing your voice.
April 27th, 2009 at 11:41 am
why when you die?talk to him n let him know you for himself.
( I’ve missed something haven’t I? )
April 30th, 2009 at 8:05 pm
you’re incredible.
always have been.
June 6th, 2009 at 9:45 am
Your thong is hanging out.
July 7th, 2009 at 7:16 pm
Bless you brother.
July 8th, 2010 at 6:11 am
It seems that we are all acrobats, balancing on the edges of the rope.