Results for category "2007"

Holiday Song

This is a language I no longer speak—
   this easy exchange of phrases
   from these bland, accessible, eager and amiable faces
   drinks in their hands and
   each one of them wishing me well

So I left myself for a time
   to see if I couldn’t find
   the wellspring

I don’t wish to know them

At first she was my lover—
   then she became my muse...
I’ll find other lovers

I don’t know what I wish

I always find sadness
   whenever I see her

This is what I wish

I did nothing wrong
   but it all came out wrong
I did everything wrong

I used to love her

This music, my love, was written
   over two hundred years ago
It was written in a different place
But it feels like it was written here
   and it could have been written today

-November 18, 2007-

Every Mistake

In this soft twilight place
   with its round white moon smile
   you may scar your heart forever

I pay and I pay
   for every mistake

papers, deft writings, so important
   even days ago
   like old train tickets
   distant schedules,
   past reservations
      honored in their time
      or disgraced
   so important, these papers, once
   like time’s orange streaking arrows
      brilliant, relentless
   like blistering darting thoughts
   or faded newsprint
   tales of old fights
   on fragile yellowed papers
      past explosions
like a love lost before it could begin
   or a damaged friend

I pay and I pay
   for every mistake

What was once important
   isn’t important now
what once excited
   has vanished

I pay and I pay
   for every mistake

I see various shades of orange in my head
   moving to the sounds of violins
Whenever I hear violins
   I see various shades of orange
Always have for some reason
Always have
Music always turns back on itself
It belongs, and does not belong,
   to one place

-September 25, 2007-

Our own gods

(after Marguerite Yourcenar’s “Memoirs of     Hadrian”)

Each of us is dedicated
   to our own gods
and in the course of this brief life will choose
   between an endless striving
   and a wise resignation
between the delights of disorder and order

I have never belonged wholly to one place

When Dad died I was 12 and
   plunged into grief, seeing only for years
   this chaotic house,
   a mother’s tears
   and my terror

But what happened to you, girl, that you
   grew up weak, selfish and mean?
Whole nations have perished for want
   of generosity...
What the hell happened to you?

The iron gray sky
   is indifferent to our wants and joys alike
Dedicated to her own gods
   she grew frail without ceasing to be hard

Life’s atrocious sometimes, as we all know
   and the mediocre will always outnumber the wise
   and at least one fool
   will reign over us per century

Still, I didn’t love her less
   I loved her more
but the weight of that love
   like a gentle tender arm around her shoulders
became too heavy to bear

If endless servitude ever ends
   and unnecessary misfortune ever ends
   there will still be these horrors:
      death, old age, incurable sickness
      love unrequited and friendships betrayed
      the mediocrity of a life less vast
      than our projects, far
      duller than our dreams

Why are we afraid of ghosts
   when we are so ready to speak with the dead
   when we welcome them back in our hearts?

My true lovers have left me more than I them
   for I have never understood how
   one can ever have enough of true love

-July 27, 2007-

Winter’s Prayer 2

This time of year
   New York City streets are cold
   and unforgiving
Runners here often
   run hurt

There’s nothing to look forward to right now
   nothing to explain
Old hag winter is here to stay
   with her atrophying muscles
   and her rigid wrinkled face

When things go well for you, child,
   and your health is good
   those cold blue eyes of yours shine

These acid angels terrify--
   if they could they’d burn the scars
   right off my heart
      and curse this raging child

We will meet again in gladness
   which will, even to me,
      seem sacred
In this space unworldly bell-like whispers
   we can barely hear, barely perceive, but listen
      the joyful bells are light and
      the mournful bells are sweet

-December 14, 2007-

In a foreign land

(after Joseph von Eichendorff)

These days it is usual
   for the sad and restless
   to climb above the tips of clouds and go
   to distant foreign lands

Here a glorious pink trout
   easily glides in a wild blue pool
   and above, in the air, our wild goddess swells
   in golden light
How soon will the quiet time come?
   In the distance it barely speaks, it seems,
      of great future happiness

What do you tell us cold wind?
   What do you tell us bleak night?
The moonbeams dart over me as I swim
   It seems as if you still wait for me
      in a garden of roses
   even though you are long dead

I will sing us a song of happiness
   but inside the tears scorch my heart
Everyone who hears it will smile
   and no one will know its deep sorrow

If you have a friend on earth
   don’t trust her
much may go wrong in the night
   be aware, be alert, stay wide awake

Migrating birds are passing above the clouds
   below the thorns of earth begin to bloom
I can at last rejoice
   and in this distant foreign land
   my alien heart won’t break
You are mine, you are mine, at last

-March 10, 2007-