Sunday, September 21, 2014

"Congratulations. You got the part"

Day 20 of a month of poetry: the incomparable Philip Larkin

Love Again

Love again: wanking at ten past three   
(Surely he’s taken her home by now?),   
The bedroom hot as a bakery,
The drink gone dead, without showing how   
To meet tomorrow, and afterwards,
And the usual pain, like dysentery.

Someone else feeling her breasts and cunt,   
Someone else drowned in that lash-wide stare,   
And me supposed to be ignorant,
Or find it funny, or not to care,
Even ... but why put it into words?
Isolate rather this element

That spreads through other lives like a tree   
And sways them on in a sort of sense   
And say why it never worked for me.   
Something to do with violence
A long way back, and wrong rewards,   
And arrogant eternity.

Saturday, September 20, 2014

Say "I love when you call me that" Or is that too much?

Day 19 of a month of poetry: 2 poems by Elizabeth Bishop. She wrote the first one in Brazil, the first place I went with my true love. The second she wrote in New York.

Close close all night

by Elizabeth Bishop

Close close all night
the lovers keep.
They turn together
in their sleep,
close as two papers
in a book
that read each other
in the dark.
Each knows all
the other knows
learnt by heart
from head to toes.

One Art

by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Friday, September 19, 2014

I can't wait to see you in Nantucket I feel like it will be a honeymoon

Day 18 of a month of poetry: Milton.

excerpt from 'Paradise Lost', Book VIII

by John Milton

...yet when I approach
Her loveliness, so absolute she seems
And in her self compleat, so well to know
Her own, that what she wills to do or say,
Seems wisest, vertuousest, discreetest, best;
All higher knowledge in her presence falls
Degraded, Wisdom in discourse with her
Looses discount'nanc't, and like folly shewes;
Authority and Reason on her waite,
As one intended first, not after made
Occasionally; and to consummate all,
Greatness of mind and nobleness their seat
Build in her loveliest, and create an awe
About her, as a guard Angelic placed.