filled heart unlocked by his face, her voice,
and we suffered from its side effects of hedonism,
forgetting. The geranium on my porch seems to be
a testament to the finite, the stable, in the warp
of its knobby stems and the slip of white
at each petal’s seat, 99 cents at Kmart, but lush
hairs blur the edges of leaves and its musk
supercedes — the water I drink standing near it tastes
heavy and spiced. This flower unlocks, hunger-like,
borders (my mouth, my nose, the water) as does the 747.
Overfull, virulent, the plane dissolves the differences
between my arms, the steering wheel, the airport’s
sky and fills me with a roaring which medievals
could only see as dangerous. Animals
killed for slaughter spill their hunger, see how they
continue to bite at the earth? They believed this pour
was absorbed by the grasses and trees, geraniums,
air, and see how much and why I lose myself to you.
* * *
DIALOGUES
Love poems are usually a solitary activity, and most of the poems in this book feature one person speaking. But when love becomes a two-nay street, some interesting collisions ensue. Here are two wrecks in the making.
* * *
THE SONG OF SONGS (7:1—8:3)
The New English Bible
[Bridegroom:]
How beautiful are your sandalled feet, O prince’s daughter!
The curves of your thighs are like jewels,
the work of a skilled craftsman.
Your navel is a rounded goblet
that never shall want for spiced wine.
Your belly is a heap of wheat
fenced in by lilies.
Your two breasts are like two fawns,
twin fawns of a gazelle.
Your neck is like a tower of ivory.
Your eyes are the pools in Heshbon,
beside the gate of the crowded city.
Your nose is like towering Lebanon
that looks towards Damascus.
You carry your head like Carmel;
the flowing hair on your head is lustrous black,
your tresses are braided with ribbons.
How beautiful, how entrancing you are,
my loved one, daughter of delights!
You are stately as a palm-tree,
and your breasts are the clusters of dates.
I said, “I will climb up into the palm
to grasp its fronds.”
May I find your breasts like clusters of grapes on the vine,
the scent of your breath like apricots,
and your whispers like spiced wine
flowing smoothly to welcome my caresses,
gliding down through lips and teeth.
[Bride:]
I am my beloved’s, his longing is all for me.
Come, my beloved, let us go out into the fields
to lie among the henna-bushes;
let us go early to the vineyards
and see if the vine has budded or its blossoms opened,
if the pomegranates are in flower.
There will I give you my love,
when the mandrakes give their perfume,
and all rare fruits are ready at our door,
fruits new and old
which I have in store for you, my love.
If only you were my own true brother
that sucked my mother’s breasts!
Then, if I found you outside, I would kiss you,
and no man would despise me.
I would lead you to the room of the mother who bore me,
bring you to her house for you to embrace me;
I would give you mulled wine to drink
and the fresh juice of pomegranates,
your left arm under my head and your right arm round me.
* * *
Love Divine
Many scholars think the Old Testament Song of Songs a collection of ancient Semitic wedding poems, gathered together and attributed to Solomon as expressions of divine love for the chosen people. They seem to be spoken by both a bride and a bridegroom and get pretty racy—probably one reason they’re not in the lectionary of Bible readings you’re likely to hear in church.
* * *
“IF I PROFANE WITH MY UNWORTHIEST HAND” (FROM ROMEO AND JULIET)
William Shakespeare
Romeo: If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this,
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
Juliet: Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this:
For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.
Romeo: Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
Juliet: Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in pray’r.
Romeo: O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do,
They pray—grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
Juliet: Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.
Romeo: Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take.
[He kisses her.]
* * *
A Sonnet for Two
Most Elizabethan sonnets are by a single speaker, professions of a poet’s love for the beloved. Here, at the moment when Romeo and juliet first meet and flirt in Shakespeare’s play, their dialogue forms a perfect fourteen-line sonnet.
Pilgrims = Romeo pretends to be a religious pilgrim at a holy shrine.
Saints = The carved images of saints at cathedrals, objects of pilgrimage.
Palmers = In addition to shaking hands, palmers carried palm leaves on pilgrimage. Juliet puns on the two meanings of palm.
Move = Statues don’t move when pilgrims touch them.
* * *
* * *
SECRET LOVE, SILENT LOVE
When poets turn from public praise to private feelings, the tone can become more quiet, less boastful, and more specific. That’s as it should be — not all loves can stand sunlight; some require the moon.
* * *
* * *
Whispers in the Darkness
In this invitation to a tryst in the dark, notice the sounds — the breathy open vowels, the sibilant consonants, like a whisper at night.
Porphyry = Glittering stone.
Danaë = In Greek mythology, she was a great beauty, locked up where no man could reach her. But Zeus lusted for her, and came to her in the form of a golden shower. The child of their union was the hero Perseus.
* * *
NOW SLEEPS THE CRIMSON PETAL
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me.
Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.
Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.
Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.
Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.
* * *
Dangerous to Know
Lord Byron was characterized by one of his lovers as “mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” In his time, he was like one of today’s tabloid superstars, leaving in his wake a trail of gossip, broken hearts, and ruined reputations. Here, though, it’s Byron who claims to be the injured party.
* *
*
WHEN WE TWO PARTED
George Gordon, Lord Byron
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o’er me —
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well: —
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met —
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee? —
With silence and tears.
“JOY OF MY LIFE, FULL OFT FOR LOVING YOU”
Edmund Spenser
Joy of my life, full oft for loving you
I bless my lot, that was so lucky placed:
But then the more your own mishap I rue,
That are so much by so mean love embased.
For had the equal heavens so much you graced
In this as in the rest, ye might invent
Some heavenly wit, whose verse could have enchased
Your glorious name in golden monument.
But since ye deign’d so goodly to relent
To me your thrall, in whom is little worth,
That little that I am shall all be spent
In setting your immortal praises forth;
Whose lofty argument uplifting me
Shall lift you up unto an high degree.
* * *
YOU MAKE ME A BETTER MAN
Low self-esteem haunts many poets, who are often much misunderstood by the world and their loved ones. Or not. Sometimes it’s a pose.
* * *
* * *
On a Pedestal
Edmund Spenser plays a variation on a common theme of sonneteers, where the poet is ennobled by his beloved’s affection.
Embased = Made plain.
Equal heavens = Divine justice.
Enchased = To decorate with engraving or gems.
Thrall = Slavish servant.
* * *
* * *
Weekend Warrior
We don’t think of love poets celebrating suburban domesticity, and indeed Robert Phillips hints that he didn’t think so highly of it himself — a self-image problem that new love seems to have cured. Here, then, is the poet as good neighbor.
Pavarotti = Famed operatic tenor Luciano Pavarotti.
Scrooge = From Charles Dickens’s novel A Christmas Carol.
* * *
THE CHANGED MAN
Robert Phillips
If you were to hear me imitating Pavarotti
in the shower every morning, you would know
how much you have changed my life.
If you were to see me stride across the park,
waving to strangers, then you would know
I am a changed man — like Scrooge
awakened from his bad dreams feeling feather-
light, angel-happy, laughing the father
of a long line of bright laughs —
“It is still not too late to change my life!”
It is changed. Me, who felt short-changed.
Because of you I no longer hate my body.
Because of you I buy new clothes.
Because of you I’m a warrior of joy.
Because of you and me. Drop by
this Saturday morning and discover me
fiercely pulling weeds gladly, dedicated
as a born-again gardener.
Drop by on Sunday — I’ll Turtlewax
your sky-blue sports car, no sweat. I’ll greet
enemies with a handshake, forgive debtors
with a papal largesse. It’s all because
of you. Because of you and me,
I’ve become one changed man.
6
LOVES ME NOT
He was her man.
An’ he done her wrong
—Mississippi John Hurt, “Frankie”
* * *
ROSES WITH THORNS
Sometimes there’s just no good way to break it off. In these poems, Rita Dove and Aphra Behn let the raw edges show, as they try to maintain their composure in the face of empty gestures by ex-lovers.
* * *
* * *
Nothing Gold
Chrysanthemum gets its name from the Greek (gold), and beneath the showy red-gold flowers its prickly stems make handling it uncomfortable. An appropriate flower, perhaps, for an unpleasant breakup.
* * *
THEN CAME FLOWERS
Rita Dove
I should have known if you gave me flowers
They would be chrysanthemums.
The white spikes singed my fingers.
I cried out; they spilled from the green tissue
And spread at my feet in a pool of soft fire.
If I begged you to stay, what good would it do me?
In the bed, you would lay the flowers between us.
I will pick them up later, arrange them with pincers.
All night from the bureau they’ll watch me, their
Plumage as proud, as cocky as firecrackers.
THE DEFIANCE
Aphra Behn
By Heaven ’tis false, I am not vain;
And rather would the subject be
Of your indifference, or disdain,
Than wit or raillery.
Take back the trifling praise you give,
And pass it on some other fool,
Who may the injuring wit believe,
That turns her into ridicule.
Tell her, she’s witty, fair, and gay,
With all the charms that can subdue:
Perhaps she’ll credit what you say;
But curse me if I do.
If your diversion you design,
Or my good-nature you have prest:
Or if you do intend it mine,
You have mistook the jest.
* * *
Secret Agent
Aphra Behn was an English spy in the seventeenth century, so she knew deceit when she saw it. Espionage was not very remunerative, though, and to pay her debts she turned to writing plays, poems, and novels, becoming the first woman in England to earn a living with her pen.
Raillery = Loud joking.
Diversion = Amusement.
Prest = Imposed upon.
* * *
* * *
TOGETHER AND APART
Many famous love affairs have been conducted through the mail or over the wire, spanning oceans and continents. But in general, distance and separation do not make for satisfying relationships. Here are two poets contemplating separation, one by distance and one by time.
* * *
* * *
Pass mildly away = Die.
Floods … tempests = Showy conventions of Petrarchan love poetry.
Laity = The uninitiated.
Moving = Earthquakes.
Spheres = The concentric spheres that make up the Ptolemaic universe.
Sublunary = Those who live beneath the moon—ordinary humans.
Elemented = Compounded from elements.
* * *
A VALEDICTION: FORBIDDING MOURNING
John Donne
As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls, to go,
The breath goes now, and some say, no:
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move,
’Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.
Moving of th’ earth brings harms and fears,
Men reckon what it did and meant,
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.
Dull sublunary lovers’ love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.
But we by a love, so much refined,
That our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.
Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.
If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two,
Thy soul the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th’ other do.
And though it in the centre sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to me, who must
Like th’ other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end, where I begun.
* * *
Elements of a Good-bye
A valediction is a good-bye, as any high school valedictorian will probably tell you. How to say good-bye, though, is not something you learn in school. “This isn’t good-bye.” one lover says. But separation often means the end of love. Donne protests here that such is not the case, that absence only takes the elemental gold of love and makes it thinner, finer, more delicate.
Love Poetry Out Loud Page 7