In dangerous silence
to the memory of
Rex Fairburn
without whom something quite different
To Beatrice, Parthenos
In dangerous silence the poet makes
words for another man's wife.
His manhood swells in the darkening mind
and may blossom alone
ere spring is come, seeking forever the womb
of the world's love to answer
his own in a rhythmic beating of breath to breath,
wherein she lies the apple of
his eyes, virgin again in the house on the hill.
Oh build it in marble! Take
ivory for her flesh, and gold for her dress,
and paint it with roses
both yellow and red, green lines for its border...
Shroud her well with the taming
of horses and slaying of bulls, for all things
surrender. She goes not
from the mystic love of a child to the fullness
of aging and dying. She lives
in the heart, she will open Paradise.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem