“You Will Know Yourself"
​
You will know yourself
by remembering the clouded canvases of old dreams
on a grim day when you walk
with your eyes open.
​
What counts in memory
is the clean gift of evoking dreams.
​
Antonio Machado
John Louis Krug received his MFA in creative writing from The New School University. He was awarded the President’s Merit Scholarship for his MFA degree program. As an undergraduate at The New School he was accepted into the Riggio Honors Program, Writing and Democracy. While completing his BA he represented The New School in the Glascock Intercollegiate Poetry Competition at Mount Holyoke College. John Louis Krug lives and writes in New York City and is currently working on a collection of new poems.
Selected Poems
Passing
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Hey Dad, I haven’t heard from you in thirty-seven years.
Yes, I know you passed, passed on, passed over—really?
Passing was when you taught me to drive, flooring it to
pass cattle trucks going west on US 30 into a setting sun.
Passed out—almost, that I remember, the night we
traded shots and beers in a one bar town somewhere
west of Wahoo. I, rolling out of the truck bed to the ground
You, walking past with a passing smile saying nothing.
​
Yeah Dad, you didn’t talk much, my learning curve was
bent by watching, watching you, sparse instructions, just doing.
My daily field notes continually suspect without you, still a bit
nervous with drill or saw in my hand. Your opinion—a
missing ruler to measure my questionable mark. I wish I had
your steady voice in my ear. Still, you passed on a love for me
without exclamation, your constant calm within my daily squalls—
a distant solace that marks me decades on.
​
Dad, you’ve passed, passed on, passed over.
I’d love to watch another distilled lesson—a wedding ring
rescued from a drain, a dock built on a northern lake,
a family bound together with your patient glue.
So many birthdeath days have passed.
I miss the raised glass, your gentle tap, our
silent conversation in that far off prairie bar.
​
