The Breast

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1. Cinderella Her imaginary playmate was a grown-up In sea-coal satin. The flame-blue glances, The wings gauzy as the membrane that the ashes Draw over an old ember as the mother In a jug of cider were a comfort to her. They sat by the fire and told each other stories. “What men want…” said the godmother […]...
2. Sonnet 15 XV On The Late Massacher In Piemont Avenge O lord thy slaughter’d Saints, whose bones Lie scatter’d on the Alpine mountains cold, Ev’n them who kept thy truth so pure of old When all our Fathers worship’t Stocks and Stones, Forget not: in thy book record their groanes Who were thy Sheep and in their […]...
3. The Philosophers I think, therefore I am, said a man whose mother quickly Hit him on the head, saying, I hit my son on the head, Therefore I am. No no, you’ve got it all wrong, cried the man. So she hit him on the head again and cried, therefore I am. You’re not, not that way; […]...
4. The Moss Of His Skin “Young girls in old Arabia were often buried alive next To their fathers, apparently as sacrifice to the goddesses Of the tribes…” Harold Feldman, “Children of the Desert” Psychoanalysis And Psychoanalytic Review, Fall 1958 It was only important To smile and hold still, To lie down beside him And to rest awhile, To be folded […]...
5. Goodbye To The Poetry Of Calcium Dark cypresses The world is uneasily happy; It will all be forgotten. Theodore Storm Mother of roots, you have not seeded The tall ashes of loneliness For me. Therefore, Now I go. If I knew the name, Your name, all trellises of vineyards and old fire Would quicken to shake terribly my Earth, mother of […]...
6. The Mad Yak I am watching them churn the last milk they’ll ever get From me. They are waiting for me to die; They want to make buttons out of my bones. Where are my sisters and brothers? That tall monk there, loading my uncle, he has a new cap. And that idiot student of his I never […]...
7. TO ROBIN RED-BREAST Laid out for dead, let thy last kindness be With leaves and moss-work for to cover me; And while the wood-nymphs my cold corpse inter, Sing thou my dirge, sweet-warbling chorister! For epitaph, in foliage, next write this: HERE, HERE THE TOMB OF ROBIN HERRICK IS!...
8. The Breast One night a woman’s breast came to a man’s room and Began to talk about her twin sister. Her twin sister this and her twin sister that. Finally the man said, but what about you, dear breast? And so the breast spent the rest of the night talking about Herself. It was the same as […]...
9. Her breast is fit for pearls Her breast is fit for pearls, But I was not a “Diver” Her brow is fit for thrones But I have not a crest. Her heart is fit for home I a Sparrow build there Sweet of twigs and twine My perennial nest....
10. Come show thy Durham Breast Come show thy Durham Breast To her who loves thee best, Delicious Robin And if it be not me At least within my Tree Do the avowing Thy Nuptial so minute Perhaps is more astute Than vaster suing For so to soar away Is our propensity The Day ensuing...
11. Upon The Nipples Of Julia's Breast Have ye beheld (with much delight) A red rose peeping through a white? Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lily? Centre placed? Or ever marked the pretty beam A strawberry shows half drowned in cream? Or seen rich rubies blushing through A pure smooth pearl, and orient too? So like to this, nay […]...
12. Not Heaving from My Ribb’d Breast Only NOT heaving from my ribb’d breast only; Not in sighs at night, in rage, dissatisfied with myself; Not in those long-drawn, ill-supprest sighs; Not in many an oath and promise broken; Not in my wilful and savage soul’s volition; Not in the subtle nourishment of the air; Not in this beating and pounding at my […]...
13. Scented Herbage of My Breast SCENTED herbage of my breast, Leaves from you I yield, I write, to be perused best afterwards, Tomb-leaves, body-leaves, growing up above me, above death, Perennial roots, tall leaves-O the winter shall not freeze you, delicate leaves, Every year shall you bloom again-out from where you retired, you shall emerge again; O I do not […]...
14. The Painter on Silk There was a man Who made his living By painting roses Upon silk. He sat in an upper chamber And painted, And the noises of the street Meant nothing to him. When he heard bugles, and fifes, and drums, He thought of red, and yellow, and white roses Bursting in the sunshine, And smiled as […]...
15. 429. Song-Come let me take thee to my breast COME, let me take thee to my breast, And pledge we ne’er shall sunder; And I shall spurn as vilest dust The world’s wealth and grandeur: And do I hear my Jeanie own That equal transports move her? I ask for dearest life alone, That I may live to love her. Thus, in my arms, […]...
16. Tцrnfallet There is a meadow in Sweden Where I lie smitten, Eyes stained with clouds’ White ins and outs. And about that meadow Roams my widow Plaiting a clover Wreath for her lover. I took her in marriage In a granite parish. The snow lent her whiteness, A pine was a witness. She’d swim in the […]...
17. Just Once Just once I knew what life was for. In Boston, quite suddenly, I understood; Walked there along the Charles River, Watched the lights copying themselves, All neoned and strobe-hearted, opening Their mouths as wide as opera singers; Counted the stars, my little campaigners, My scar daisies, and knew that I walked my love On the […]...
18. The Pilgrim I fasted for some forty days on bread and buttermilk, For passing round the bottle with girls in rags or silk, In country shawl or Paris cloak, had put my wits astray, And what’s the good of women, for all that they can say Is fol de rol de rolly O. Round Lough Derg’s holy […]...
19. Wayward Wind My patient, Paul, wrote in a poem That he belongs to the wayward wind, A restless breed, A strange and hardy class. I’ve been with him for two years And now he is dying. “Are you in pain, Paul?” I ask. “I AM pain,” he said. But he is refusing medication Although his cancer has […]...
20. The Immortal Part When I meet the morning beam, Or lay me down at night to dream, I hear my bones within me say, “Another night, another day. “When shall this slough of sense be cast, This dust of thoughts be laid at last, The man of flesh and soul be slain And the man of bone remain? […]...
21. Bath A MAN saw the whole world as a grinning skull and Cross-bones. The rose flesh of life shriveled from all Faces. Nothing counts. Everything is a fake. Dust to Dust and ashes to ashes and then an old darkness and a Useless silence. So he saw it all. Then he went to a Mischa Elman […]...
22. Crucifix Do not cry for me, Mother, seeing me in the grave. I This greatest hour was hallowed and thandered By angel’s choirs; fire melted sky. He asked his Father:”Why am I abandoned…?” And told his Mother: “Mother, do not cry…” II Magdalena struggled, cried and moaned. Peter sank into the stone trance… Only there, where […]...
23. The Idea of Ancestry Taped to the wall of my cell are 47 pictures: 47 black Faces: my father, mother, grandmothers (1 dead), grand- Fathers (both dead), brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, Cousins (1st and 2nd), nieces, and nephews. They stare Across the space at me sprawling on my bunk. I know Their dark eyes, they know mine. I know […]...
24. Attraction The meadow and the mountain with desire Gazed on each other, till a fierce unrest Surged ‘neath the meadow’s seemingly calm breast, And all the mountain’s fissures ran with fire. A mighty river rolled between them there. What could the mountain do but gaze and burn? What could the meadow do but look and yearn, […]...
25. Eulogy To A Hell Of A Dame some dogs who sleep ay night Must dream of bones And I remember your bones In flesh And best In that dark green dress And those high-heeled bright Black shoes, You always cursed when you drank, Your hair coimng down you Wanted to explode out of What was holding you: Rotten memories of a Rotten […]...
26. Little Sleep's-Head Sprouting Hair In The Moonlight 1 You scream, waking from a nightmare. When I sleepwalk Into your room, and pick you up, And hold you up in the moonlight, you cling to me Hard, As if clinging could save us. I think You think I will never die, I think I exude To you the permanence of smoke or stars, […]...
27. Lullaby My mother’s an expert in one thing: Sending people she loves into the other world. The little ones, the babies these She rocks, whispering or singing quietly. I can’t say What she did for my father; Whatever it was, I’m sure it was right. It’s the same thing, really, preparing a person For sleep, for […]...
28. Ape You haven’t finished your ape, said mother to father, Who had monkey hair and blood on his whiskers. I’ve had enough monkey, cried father. You didn’t eat the hands, and I went to all the Trouble to make onion rings for its fingers, said mother. I’ll just nibble on its forehead, and then I’ve had […]...
29. ON THE MASSACRE OF THE CHRISTIANS IN BULGARIA Christ, dost Thou live indeed? or are Thy bones Still straitened in their rock-hewn sepulchre? And was Thy Rising only dreamed by her Whose love of Thee for all her sin atones? For here the air is horrid with men’s groans, The priests who call upon Thy name are slain, Dost Thou not hear the […]...
30. Prayers After World War WANDERING oversea dreamer, Hunting and hoarse, Oh daughter and mother, Oh daughter of ashes and mother of blood, Child of the hair let down, and tears, Child of the cross in the south And the star in the north, Keeper of Egypt and Russia and France, Keeper of England and Poland and Spain, Make us […]...
31. Rapunzel A woman Who loves a woman Is forever young. The mentor And the student Feed off each other. Many a girl Had an old aunt Who locked her in the study To keep the boys away. They would play rummy Or lie on the couch And touch and touch. Old breast against young breast… Let […]...
32. Ages and Ages, Returning at Intervals AGES and ages, returning at intervals, Undestroy’d, wandering immortal, Lusty, phallic, with the potent original loins, perfectly sweet, I, chanter of Adamic songs, Through the new garden, the West, the great cities calling, Deliriate, thus prelude what is generated, offering these, offering myself, Bathing myself, bathing my songs in Sex, Offspring of my loins....
33. Pirate Story Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing, Three of us abroad in the basket on the lea. Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring, And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea. Where shall we adventure, to-day that we’re afloat, Wary of the […]...
34. Morning Midday And Evening Sacrifice The dappled die-away Cheek and wimpled lip, The gold-wisp, the airy-grey Eye, all in fellowship- This, all this beauty blooming, This, all this freshness fuming, Give God while worth consuming. Both thought and thew now bolder And told by Nature: Tower; Head, heart, hand, heel, and shoulder That beat and breathe in power- This pride […]...
35. All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace I like to think (and The sooner the better!) Of a cybernetic meadow Where mammels and computers Live together in mutually Programming harmony Like pure water Touching clear sky. I like to think (right now, please!) Of a cybernetic forest Filled with pines and electronics Where deer stroll peacefully Past computers As if they were […]...
36. Venus of the Louvre Down the long hall she glistens like a star, The foam-born mother of Love, transfixed to stone, Yet none the less immortal, breathing on. Time’s brutal hand hath maimed but could not mar. When first the enthralled enchantress from afar Dazzled mine eyes, I saw not her alone, Serenely poised on her world-worshipped throne, As […]...
37. Put Off the Wedding Five Times and Nobody Comes to It (Handbook for Quarreling Lovers)I THOUGHT of offering you apothegms. I might have said, “Dogs bark and the wind carries it away.” I might have said, “He who would make a door of gold must knock a nail in every day.” So easy, so easy it would have been to inaugurate a high impetuous moment for […]...
38. SPROUT It could be Valley Oak or Snap-bean, Elderberry, or Cattail rising out of the creek; All began the same, a spark of life inside, The need to be coaxing their will into action. Seed and pod, nut and bulb, cajoled awake, called By the warmth of the sun, moisture in the soil, Swelling them, filling […]...
39. The Untrustworthy Speaker Don’t listen to me; my heart’s been broken. I don’t see anything objectively. I know myself; I’ve learned to hear like a psychiatrist. When I speak passionately, That’s when I’m least to be trusted. It’s very sad, really: all my life I’ve been praised For my intelligence, my powers of language, of insight- In the […]...
40. THE GARDEN OF DEATH Weak but alive Dying yet still alive Huge eyes Round like golf balls White as bones Bony framed Fleshless Pus in orifices Worms Teeth, white teeth Skull and bones. Am sorry for life Oh this pain deeper than Only death can save My friend, I am sorry That you pain When you sleep, wake Pain, […]...