The Secret Is Out Poem by gershon hepner

The secret is out, it’s very delicious;
the story is ripe, so let’s now be vicious,
discussing together the details that, gory,
make what once was secret a stunning new story.

We always had felt there was far more to know
than what we’d been told, and we know that it’s so;
still waters run deep, so let’s have some fun
by stirring them up now the chase has begun.

With Uncle Tom Cobley let’s all blow our horn,
while hunting the prey we admire but scorn,
for the secret is out, and we needn’t pretend
any more that the fox whose been caught was our friend.

Linda heard W.H. Auden reading this poem in a CD this morning and hurried to send me the words

At Last the Secret is Out

W. H. Auden

At last the secret is out,
as it always must come in the end,
the delicious story is ripe to tell
to tell to the intimate friend;
over the tea-cups and into the square
the tongues has its desire;
still waters run deep, my dear,
there's never smoke without fire.

Behind the corpse in the reservoir,
behind the ghost on the links,
behind the lady who dances
and the man who madly drinks,
under the look of fatigue
the attack of migraine and the sigh
there is always another story,
there is more than meets the eye.

For the clear voice suddenly singing,
high up in the convent wall,
the scent of the elder bushes,
the sporting prints in the hall,
the croquet matches in summer,
the handshake, the cough, the kiss,
there is always a wicked secret,
a private reason for this.



7/15/08