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Poems Page 15

by Elizabeth Bishop


  OneyearagotoowellIknew

  Dissimilarity

  BetweenmyfoolishLoveandyou.

  —Whatcharity

  Fromyou,orLove,madeupmyLove’sdisparity?

  IntoyourimagenowmyLovehasgrown,

  Yoursize,

  Andeveneveryfeaturelike.Iown

  Surprise

  Tomeet,whenImeetyou—orLove—youreyes.

  Nordoesaneyelashdiffer;norahair

  But’sshapedexactly

  ToyouIlove,andwarnsmetobeware

  Mydubioussecurity,

  —Sureofmylove,andLove;uncertainofidentity.

  ButpoorLove’simitation’smadehimmute

  Inhisperfection.

  Announcedtoyou,uponyourmostminute

  Inspection

  You’dthinkbutthatyoumetyourownreflection.

  SuchcuriousLove,inconstantinnocence,

  Thoughillatease,

  Admits,betweenyouandhimself,nodifference

  Andnodegrees…

  IsometimespridemeonLove’slimitations,theybeingthese.

  III

  Loveisfeatheredlikeabird

  Tokeephimwarm,

  Tokeephimsafefromharm,

  Andbywhatwindsordraftshisnestisstirred

  TheychillnotLove.

  Warmliveshe:

  Nowarmthgivesoff,

  Ornonetome.

  Clawshehaslikeanyhawk

  Toclutchandkeep,

  Toclutchsohemaysleep

  Whileroundtheredheart’sperchhisclawscanlock

  AndfastenLove.

  Hisholdhe’llnotresign,

  Norfromtheheartfalloff,

  Ornotfrommine.

  AtnightsthegrackleLovewillstart

  Toshriekandshrill,

  Norwillheoncebestill

  Tillhehaswideawakethebackwardheart.

  SoselfishLove,

  Gohush;

  Feathersandclawstakeoff

  Orseeksomebush.

  1934

  TheReprimand

  Ifyoutastetearstoooften,inquisitivetongue,

  You’llfindthey’vesomethingyou’dnotreckonedon;

  Creptchildishouttotoucheye’sownphenomenon,

  Return,intoyourelement.Tearsbelong

  Toonlyeyes;theirdeepestsorrowtheywrung

  Fromwater.Whereweptwater’sgone

  Thatresidueissorrow,saltandwan,

  Yourbitterenemy,wholeavesthefacewhite-strung.

  Tears,taster,haveadignityindisplay,

  Carryanantidotalgiftfordrying.

  Unsuitedtoasavoringbytheway,

  Saltpuckerstear-dropsup,endscrying.

  Ohcurious,crackedandchapped,nowwillyousay,

  Tongue,“Grief’snotmine”andbendyourselftosighing?

  1935

  TheMountain

  Atevening,somethingbehindme.

  Istartforasecond,Iblench,

  orstaggeringlyhaltandburn.

  Idonotknowmyage.

  Inthemorningitisdifferent.

  Anopenbookconfrontsme,

  tooclosetoreadincomfort.

  TellmehowoldIam.

  Andthenthevalleysstuff

  impenetrablemists

  likecottoninmyears.

  Idonotknowmyage.

  Idonotmeantocomplain.

  Theysayitismyfault.

  Nobodytellsmeanything.

  TellmehowoldIam.

  Thedeepestdemarcations

  canslowlyspreadandfade

  likeanybluetattoo.

  Idonotknowmyage.

  Shadowsfalldown,lightsclimb.

  Clamberinglights,ohchildren!

  youneverstaylongenough.

  TellmehowoldIam.

  Stonewingshavesiftedhere

  withfeatherhardeningfeather.

  Theclawsarelostsomewhere.

  Idonotknowmyage.

  Iamgrowingdeaf.Thebirdcalls

  dwindle.Thewaterfalls

  gounwiped.Whatismyage?

  TellmehowoldIam.

  Letthemoongohang,

  thestarsgoflytheirkites.

  Iwanttoknowmyage.

  TellmehowoldIam.

  1952

  TheWit

  “Wait.Letmethinkaminute,”yousaid.

  Andintheminutewesaw:

  EveandNewtonwithanappleapiece,

  andMoseswiththeLaw,

  Socrates,whoscratchedhiscurlyhead,

  andmanymorefromGreece,

  allcominghurryinguptonow,

  bidbyyourcrinkledbrow.

  Butthenyoumadeabrilliantpun.

  Wegaveathunderclapoflaughter.

  Flustered,yourhelpersvanishedonebyone;

  andthroughtheconversationalspaces,after,

  wecaught,—back,back,far,far,—

  theglintingbirthdayofafractiousstar.

  1956

  ExchangingHats

  Unfunnyuncleswhoinsist

  intryingonalady’shat,

  —oh,evenifthejokefallsflat,

  weshareyourslighttransvestitetwist

  inspiteofourembarrassment.

  Costumeandcustomarecomplex.

  Theheadgearoftheothersex

  inspiresustoexperiment.

  Anandrousaunts,who,atthebeach

  withpaperplatesuponyourlaps,

  keepputtingontheyachtsmen’scaps

  withexhibitionisticscreech,

  thevisorshangingo’ertheear

  sothatthegoldenanchorsdrag,

  —thetidesoffashionneverlag.

  Suchcapsmaynotbewornnextyear.

  Oryouwhodonthepaperplate

  itself,andputsomegrapesuponit,

  orsporttheIndian’sfeatherbonnet,

  —perversitiesmayaggravate

  thenaturalmadnessofthehatter.

  Andiftheoperahatscollapse

  andcrownsgrowdraughty,then,perhaps,

  hethinkswhatmightamitermatter?

  Unfunnyuncle,youwhoworea

  hattoobig,oronetoomany,

  tellus,can’tyou,arethereany

  starsinsideyourblackfedora?

  Auntexemplaryandslim,

  withavernaleyes,wewonder

  whatslowchangestheyseeunder

  theirvast,shady,turned-downbrim.

  1956

  ANorther—KeyWest

  Likelittleblackbirdsinthestreet

  thelittleNegroeslifttheirfeet,

  thesidewalksfreeze;

  thetinroofsalllookfrozen,too,

  theflowersblackened,andhowblue

  thebigpalmtrees!

  Whilesteadilythenortherchurns

  thepale-greenseauntilitturns

  tolimemilksherbet,

  andcarefulmotherMizpahOates

  bringsouttheancientwintercoats

  forHannibalandHerbert,

  oncewornbyanimmensewhitechild.

  Shedriveshergentlechildrenwild

  byherobtuseness.

  Hannibalweeps.Oh,tragedy!

  Thewaisthangsalmosttohisknee!

  Oh,worldliness!

  1962

  Thank-YouNote

  [inthe“HarvardAdvocate”]

  Mr.Berryman’ssongsandsonnetssay:

  “Gatheryeberriesharshandcrudewhileyetyemay.”

  Eveniftheypuckerourmouthslikechoke-cherries,

  Letusbegratefulforthesethick-bunchedberries.

  1969

  UNCOLLECTEDTRANSLATIONSr />
  (1950–1975)

  Rainbow

  ( MaxJacob)

  Itwasthehourwhennightmakesthemountainslament

  Andthecragscreakunderthefootstepsofanimals,

  Thebirdsflewawayfromthecountrysidelikepoison

  Togettothesea,togettoabetterhorizon.

  Pursuingapoetthenthedevilwent.

  Thepoetstaredattheseaasifheweredead,

  Fortheretheseapowderedtheedgeofabay

  Andcoveredtheskinofthegiantrockswithscales.

  ButJesus,withfireshiningbehindhishead,

  Cametoclimbuptheblackcrags,bearingthecross.

  ThepoetstretchedouthisarmstowardstheSavior

  Andeverythingvanished:thesombernightandthebeasts.

  ThepoetfollowedGodforhishappiness.

  1950

  PatienceofanAngel

  ( MaxJacob)

  Youcanbeatme,beatme!beatme,saidthedemonwhostoodnearthestoup

  ofholywater,butyoucannotdestroyme.IamtherebelangelbutIamanangel andmyfacethatyousooftenmarbearsatleastthetraceofonevirtue:patience.

  Youcanbeatme!beatme!Mytimewillcome.

  1950

  Banks

  ( MaxJacob)

  Icomplainliketheflute,

  Alwaysthesametune

  Norestsinthewater-cress

  Thetoadsounding“do”

  Wouldpreferthebassoon.

  Elveswhoseforcesbeguile

  MustI,formypart,

  Gotobedallmylife

  DreamingofgreaterArt?

  Somanystopsandlooks

  Butneveranylistens

  Forapoormanwhotraps

  Asnowstormthatglistens.

  1950

  HellIsGraduated

  ( MaxJacob)

  WhenIwasemployedatCooperativeFashions,inspiteofthedark,uglyold maid,Itriedtostealsomegarters.Iwaspursueddownthesuperbstaircases,not for the theft, but for my laziness at work and for my hatred of the innocent finery.Descend,youarepursued.Thestaircasesarelessbeautifulintheoffices than in the part open to the public. The staircases are less beautiful in the

  “service”quartersthanintheoffices.Thestaircasesarestilllessbeautifulinthe cellar!ButwhatcanIsayofthemarshwhereIarrived?WhatcanIsayofthe laughter?Oftheanimalsthatbrushedbyme,andofthewhisperingsofunseen creatures?Watergaveplacetofire,tofear,tounconsciousness;whenIcameto myselfIwasinthehandsofsilentandnamelesssurgeons.

  1950

  MyLastPoem

  ( ManuelBandeira)

  Iwouldlikemylastpoemthus

  Thatitbegentlesayingthesimplestandleastintendedthings

  Thatitbeardentlikeatearlesssob

  Thatithavethebeautyofalmostscentlessflowers

  Thepurityoftheflameinwhichthemostlimpiddiamondsareconsumed

  Thepassionofsuicideswhokillthemselveswithoutexplanation.

  1972

  BrazilianTragedy

  ( ManuelBandeira)

  Misael,civilservantintheMinistryofLabor,63yearsold,

  Knew Maria Elvira of the Grotto: prostitute, syphilitic, with ulcerated fingers,apawnedweddingringandteethinthelaststagesofdecay.

  Misael took Maria out of “the life,” installed her in a two-storey house in JunctionCity,paidforthedoctor,dentist,manicurist.…Hegavehereverything shewanted.

  WhenMariaElviradiscoveredshehadaprettymouth,sheimmediatelytook

  aboy-friend.

  Misaeldidn’twantascandal.Hecouldhavebeatenher,shother,orstabbed her.Hedidnoneofthese:theymoved.

  Theylivedlikethatforthreeyears.

  EachtimeMariaElviratookanewboy-friend,theymoved.

  The lovers lived in Junction City. Boulder. On General Pedra Street, The Sties.TheBrickyards.Glendale.PayDirt.OnMarquêsdeSapucaíStreetinVilla Isabel. Niterói. Euphoria. In Junction City again, on Clapp Street. All Saints.

  Carousel.Edgewood.TheMines.SoldiersHome…

  Finally, in Constitution Street, where Misael, bereft of sense and reason, killedherwithsixshots,andthepolicefoundherstretchedout,supine,dressed inblueorgandy.

  1972

  CemeteryofChildhood

  ( JoaquimCardozo)

  [Children’sWeek,1953]

  InthecemeteryofChildhood

  ItwasmorningwhenIentered,

  Theflowerswereinbloom,

  SomanyIwasdazzled…

  Itwasmorning,brightwithdew,

  WhenIreachedmyowncountry,

  OfthesmilingfacesIsaw

  I’llrememberveryfew.

  Fromwidedistances

  Myhorsetravelledswiftly,

  Throughnight,acrossthenight,

  Searchingbyafter-glow;

  AndIheard,ominous,

  Aremote,forgottenvoice…

  Andtheroosterscrowandcrow

  —Sunrisesunflowers.

  Frombehindthosemountains,

  Throughtheleaguesofsummer,

  Howmanyrepeatedsteps

  Trackingthesameground;

  Andalongtheroadsides:

  Rosary,cross,andheart…

  Womenprayingtears,

  Theirhandstellingthedrops.

  Herethewingsoftheangels

  Felloff.Homelypaths

  Adornthesmallgraves

  Withthornsandwhitenettles;

  Mystepscamecloser,closer,

  Tooclose,stealthily:

  Thesoulsflewupfromtheground:

  Aflockoflittlebirds.

  Oh!thesmallafflictions

  Intheheartsoftoys!

  Yoursleepingrosebushes

  Droptheirleavesinfright…

  Yourgriefbringseveningdew,

  Sweetnessofearlymorning;

  Oh!cemeteryofChildhood,

  Revealyoursecretlight.

  Flesh,ash,andearth

  Feedmortalmysteries;

  Children,thenadults:

  Thebigfieldsofcane…

  Likeaking’sransom

  Berriesloadthetrees,

  Cattlegrazethelevels

  Ofthevastcommonplain.

  1971

  ElegyforMariaAlves

  ( JoaqimCardozo)

  Ibringyounowtheseflowers

  —ModestflowersofanOctobersun—

  Flowersfromoldhedgerows,flowersfrombramblebushes,

  Verbenasandeverlastings,jasminesandmignonettes;

  Colorsoftheskyinfar-offtwilights

  Andthetransparencyandlimpidityofafternoons

  Whengirlsdreamedinthegazebos

  Inancientgardensatthecity’sedge.

  ThefruitsthatIplaceontheground,yourground,

  Wrappedinthisphilodendronleaf

  (Daughters,too,ofasunyoudidnotsee)

  Arewildguavas,plumsfromnativehedges,

  Surinamcherries,star-apples,queens’hearts;

  Theyarered,theyarefragrantandyellow

  Asiftheywere…asifstillblossoms…

  TheearthsthatIscatter

  Overtheearthofyouremptybody

  Comefromfaraway:

  SandsfromSweetRiverandfromPiety,

  Redgrainsfromtheshoresofthesea,

  Potters’claysfromthe“RuinsofPalmyra”withtheircolors

  OfrainbowshipwreckedonthehillsofOlinda.

  Thus,Maria,Ibringyouflowers,fruits,andearths…

  Andtokeepthemalwaysfreshandpure,

  OverthemIpou
rthesewaters,

  Sweetandclear,mildandfriendly:

  WaterfromtheSluiceofApipucos,

  WaterfromtheFountoftheRosary

  —Relicsofancientrains—

  Watersweptforme,foryou,forallofus.

  1972

  Infancy

  ( CarlosDrummonddeAndrade)

  Myfathergotonhishorseandwenttothefield.

  Mymotherstayedsittingandsewing.

  Mylittlebrotherslept.

  Asmallboyaloneunderthemangotrees,

  IreadthestoryofRobinsonCrusoe,

  thelongstorythatnevercomestoanend.

  Atnoon,whitewithlight,avoicethathadlearned

  lullabieslongagointheslave-quarters—andneverforgot—

  calledusforcoffee.

  Coffeeblackerthantheblackoldwoman

  deliciouscoffee

  goodcoffee.

  Mymotherstayedsittingandsewing

  watchingme:

  Shh—don’twaketheboy.

  Shestoppedthecradlewhenamosquitohadlit

  andgaveasigh…howdeep!

  Awayofftheremyfatherwentriding

  throughthefarm’sendlesswastes.

  AndIdidn’tknowthatmystory

  wasprettierthanthatofRobinsonCrusoe.

  1972

  IntheMiddleoftheRoad

  ( CarlosDrummonddeAndrade)

  Inthemiddleoftheroadtherewasastone

  therewasastoneinthemiddleoftheroad

  therewasastone

  inthemiddleoftheroadtherewasastone.

  NevershouldIforgetthisevent

  inthelifeofmyfatiguedretinas.

  NevershouldIforgetthatinthemiddleoftheroad

  therewasastone

  therewasastoneinthemiddleoftheroad

  inthemiddleoftheroadtherewasastone.

  1972

  FamilyPortrait

  ( CarlosDrummonddeAndrade)

  Yes,thisfamilyportrait

  isalittledusty.

  Thefather’sfacedoesn’tshow

  howmuchmoneyheearned.

  Theuncles’handsdon’treveal

  thevoyagesbothofthemmade.

  Thegrandmother’ssmoothedandyellowed;

  she’sforgottenthemonarchy.

  Thechildren,howthey’vechanged.

 

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