'Of these beginnings, gay and green, propose
The suitable amours. Time will write them down.'
--Wallace Stevens
'The world is all forgetting, and the heart is a rage of directions' - Leonard Cohen
for KK & for VG
Working over old attempts at poetry, many
laments dedicated to or about, or accusative
of, the two Indian lovers after whom I no longer
pine but, perhaps, oak, or holly
but good memories of what, for me at least,
would be their gleaned love after a lifetime
of nought; but reach, inward-turned, burns
to a bindu point as yet to be seen but it is felt
as familiar bad weather
Call it spurn or better
This adhered old ache breaks open familiar
sorrows neither lent nor borrowed for what
they are worth or were, hurt-worth, a new
category of value though such with booze
or nostrums varied are still hard to swallow
So now they chorus call,
no, they bellow
See?
The wallow is ready
Just took three doses in three different forms
Who knew self pity had as many or more
forms when just one would do
Now cued Cruel City's proud jackhammers break
out just for me, they're in my innermosts too
they stammer so so shake both wall
and floor yet not without some fitful
rejoicing such are their ever
inclement hallelujahs
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
OH wonderful! Despite its sad an elegiac tone, I found much opportunity for laughter. Great poem, Warren. Love Joan