Do not suddenly break the branch, or
Hope to find
The white hart behind the white well.
Glance aside, not for lance, do not spell
Old enchantments. Let then sleep.
“Gently dip, but not too deep,”
Lift your eyes
Where the roads dip and where the roads rise
Seek only there
Where the grey light meets the green air
The hermit’s chapel, the pilgrim’s prayer.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
T. S. Eliot, “Usk.”
Hart Crane, “Legend.”
As silent as a mirror is believed
Realities plunge in silence by...
I am not ready for repentance;
Nor to match regrets. For the moth
Bends no more than the still
Imploring flame. And tremorous
In the white falling flakes
Kisses are,—
The only worth all granting.
It is to be learned—
This cleaving and this burning,
But only by the one who
Spends out himself again.
Twice and twice
(Again the smoking souvenir,
Bleeding eidolon!) and yet again.
Until the bright logic is won
Unwhispering as a mirror
Is believed.
Then, drop by caustic drop, a perfect cry
Shall string some constant harmony,—
Relentless caper for all those who step
The legend of their youth into the noon.
Color me yellow.
And lie me our straight
and hope to be gone very soon
Fit my surface to the moon.
It says bye
and keeps repeating “it”
Gets the nod.
Plate on a face hot grill
and kick everything violently in sight
Until my toes fall off.
Press my head somewhere comfortable
and fcuk a towel or anything
My arms and gravity hate each other.
Someone thought my head was a rubber tree
groove on it stupid stupid
Sapped it, it is lapped.
With two promises left
they are the same I am dumb
But one is for you, then I get what is rest.
I am brain damaged
(really)
Remember her to [whatever].
Because steely
cold.
Where my Parents Live in New Zealand, or the Ceiling of my Bedroom Repaired.
Show me the way to go home
I'm tired and I want to go
to bed
I had a little drink about
an hour ago
And it went right to my head
Where ever I may roam
On land or sea or foam
You will always hear me
singing this song
Show me the way to go home
—Irving King
I Can Read Better than you Through my Spectacles, Young Thing.
She changed my world. She saw, she conquered, she came... shame, she left. Not the wonderful person in the photo, but my dream, she from years years years ago: daring, endearing, ending, upending, end up... ending ending ending.
Okay, that’s what she looks like now.
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