Collected Poems

IN SHAME AND HUMILIATION

II. A Sequence of Love Poems Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air We wawl and cry. — King Lear A BREATH OF AIR I walked, when love was gone, Out of the human town, For an easy breath of air. Beyond a break in the trees, Beyond the hangdog lives Of old men, beyond girls: The tall stars held their peace. Looking in vain for lies I turned, like earth, to go. An owl's wings hovered, bare On the moon's hills of snow. And things were as they were. IN SHAME AND HUMILIATION He will launch a curse upon the world, and as only man can curse (it is his privilege, the primary distinction between him and other animals), maybe by his curse alone he will attain his object — that is, convince himself that he is a man and not a piano-key! — DOSTOYEVSKY, Notesfrom Underground What can a man do that a beast cannot, A bird, a reptile, any fiercer thing? He can amaze the ground With anger never hissed in a snake's throat Or past a bitch's fang, Though, suffocate, he cannot make a sound. He can out-rage the forked tongue with a word, The iron forged of his pain, over and over, SAINT JUDAS 69 Till the cold blade can fall And beak an enemy's heart quick as a bird, And then retire to cover, To vines of hair, declivities of skull. Outright the snake, faster than man, can kill. A mongrel's teeth can snarl as man's cannot. And a bird, unbodied soul Soaring and dazzling, in the cloud at will Outbeautifies the flight Of halt man's clavicles that flop and wheel. Their cries last longer. Sinew of wing and coil, Or sprung thighs of hounds impinge their iron Easy and quick, to leap Over the brooks, the miles and days, like oil Flung on a surge of green. A man limps into nothing more than sleep. But under the dream he always dreams too late, That stark abounding dream of wretchedness Where stones and very trees Ignore his name, and crows humiliate, And fiends below the face, Serpents, women, and dogs dance to deny his face He will not deny, he will not deny his own. Thrashing in lakes or pools of broken glass, He hunches over to look And feel his mouth, his nostrils, feel of the bone, A man's ultimate face: The individual bone, that burns like ice. That fire, that searing cold is what I claim: What makes me man, that dogs can never share, Woman or brilliant bird, The beaks that mock but cannot speak the names Of the blind rocks, of the stars. Sprawling in dark, I burn my sudden pride. 70 Let my veins wither now, my words revolt Serpent or bird or pure untroubled mind. I will avow my face Unto my face and, through the spirit'svault, Deliberate underground, Devour the locusts of my bitterness. That angel, wheeled upon my heart, survives, Nourished by food the righteous cannot eat And loathe to move among. They die, fastidious, while the spirit thrives Out of its own defeat. The pure, the pure! will never live so long. THE ACCUSATION I kissed you in the dead of dark, And no one knew, or wished to know, You bore, across your face, a mark From birth, those shattered years ago. Now I can never keep in mind The memory of your ugliness At a clear moment. Now my blind Fingers alone can read your face. Often enough I had seen that slash Of fire you quickly hid in shame; You flung your scarf across the flesh, And turned away, and said my name. Thus I remember daylight and The scar that made me pity you. God damn them both, you understand. Pity can scar love's face, I know. I loved your face because your face Was broken. When my hands were heavy, You kissed me only in adarkness To make me daydream you were lovely. Ah1 the lovely emptiness SAINT JUDAS yi ...