Friday, March 26, 2010

Sonnet 8

I live, I die,. I burn myself and drown.
I am extremely hot in suffering cold:
my life is soft and hardness uncontrolled.
When I am happy, then I ache and frown.
Suddenly I am laughing while I cry
and in my pleasure I endure deep grief:
my joy remains and slips out like a thief.
Suddenly I am blooming and turn dry.
So Love inconstantly leads me in vain
and when I think my sorrow has no end
unthinkingly I find I have no pain.
But when it seems that joy is in my reign
and an ecstatic hour is mine to spend,
He comes and I, in ancient grief, descend.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010


I recollect that wondrous meeting,
That instant I encountered you,
When like an apparition fleeting,
Like beauty's spirit, past you flew.

Long since, when hopeless grief distressed me,
When noise and turmoil vexed, it seemed
Your voice still tenderly caressed me,
Your dear face sought me as I dreamed.

Years passed; their stormy gusts confounded
And swept away old dreams apace.
I had forgotten how you sounded,
Forgot the heaven of your face.

In exiled gloom and isolation
My quiet days meandered on,
The thrill of awe and inspiration,
And life, and tears, and love, were gone.

My soul awoke from inanition,
And I encountered you anew,
And like a fleeting apparition,
Like beauty's spirit, past you flew.

My pulses bound in exaltation,
And in my heart once more unfold
The sense of aw and inspiration,
The life, the tears, the love of old.


What did we say to each other
that now we are as the deer
who walk in single file
with heads high
with ears forward
with eyes watchful
with hooves always placed on firm ground
in whose limbs there is latent flight.

Friday, March 12, 2010

The Bluest Eye

It was a productive pain.

If happiness is anticipation with certainty, we were happy.

The desirability that escaped me.

What experience would you like on Christmas? over What gift would you like on Christmas?

Pain was not only endurable, it was sweet.

It would involve, I supposed, "my man," who before leaving, would love me.

"How do you do that? I mean, how would you get someone to love you?"

Dealing with it each according to his way.

The muted sound of flesh on unsurprised flesh.

To have something as wonderful as that to happen would take a long, long time.

She would see only what there was to see: the eyes of other people.

Don't worry about my bandy legs. That's the 1st thing they push aside.

She was cut out for better things and could make the right man happy.

Eyes that questioned nothing and asked everything.

He was a simple Presence, an all embracing tenderness with strength and promise of rest.

Having a baby is more than a bowel movement.

Her process of becoming were like most of ours: she developed a hatred for things that mystified or obstructed her, acquired virtues that were easy to maintain, assigned herself a role in the scheme of things and harked back to simpler times for gratification.

Pulling every nerve and muscle into service

Celibacy was a haven, silence is a shield.

She never left me because she was never ever there.

And fantasy it was, for we were not strong, only aggressive; we were not free, merely licensed; we were not compassionate, we were polite; not good but well behaved.

Love is never any better than the lover.

Beauty was not simply something to behold, it was something one could do.

Quiet as it's kept.

So it was.