in the arms of young mistresses
the men more naked than the naked women
the men crying quietly
No that is not it
I’m losing why I must thank you
which means I’m left with pure longing
How old are you
Do you like your thighs
I had it for a moment
I had a reason for letting the picture
of your mouth destroy my conversation
Something on the radio
the end of a Mexican song
I saw the musicians getting paid
they are not even surprised
they knew it was only a job
Now I’ve lost it completely
A lot of people think you are beautiful
How do I feel about that
I have no feeling about that
I had a wonderful reason for not merely
courting you
It was tied up with the newspapers
I saw secret arrangements in high offices
I saw men who loved their worldliness
even though they had looked through
big electric telescopes
they still thought their worldliness was serious
not just a hobby a taste a harmless affectation
they thought the cosmos listened
I was suddenly fearful
one of their obscure regulations
could separate us
I was ready to beg for mercy
Now I’m getting into humiliation
I’ve lost why I began this
I wanted to talk about your eyes
I know nothing about your eyes
and you’ve noticed how little I know
I want you somewhere safe
far from high offices
I’ll study you later
So many people want to cry quietly beside you
July 4, 1963
ISLAND BULLETIN
Oh can my fresh white trousers
and the gardenia forest
and The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich
and my heroic tan
and my remarkable quaint house
and my Italian sun-glasses
can they do for me
what our first meeting did?
I am so good with fire yet I hesitate
to begin again
believing perhaps in some ordeal by property
I am standing by the Sunset Wall
proud
thin despite my luxury
In my journey I know I am
somewhere beyond the travelling pack of poets
I am a man of tradition
I will remain here until
I am sure what I am leaving
July 4, 1963
INDEPENDENCE
Tonight I will live with my new white skin
which I found under a millennium of pith clothing
None of the walls jump when I call them
Trees smirked you’re one of us now
when I strode through the wheat in my polished boots
Out of control awake and newly naked
I lie back in the luxury of my colour
Somebody is marching for me at me to me
Somebody has a flag I did not invent
I think the Aztecs have not been sleeping
Magic moves from hand to hand like money
I thought we were the bank the end of the line
New York City was just a counter
the crumpled bill passed across
I thought that heroes meant us
I have been reading too much history
and writing too many history books
Magic moves from hand to hand and I’m broke
Someone stops the sleepwalker in the middle of the opera
and pries open his fist finger by finger
and kisses him goodbye
I think the Aztecs have not been sleeping
no matter what I taught the children
I think no one has ever slept but he
who gathers the past into stories
Magic moves from hand to hand
Somebody is smiling in one of our costumes
Somebody is stepping out of a costume
I think that is what invisible means
July 4, 1963
THE HOUSE
Two hours off the branch and burnt
the petals of the gardenia curl and deepen
in the yellow-brown of waste
Your body wandered close
I didn’t raise my hand to reach
the distance was so familiar
Our house is happy with its old furniture
the black Venetian bed stands on gold claws
guarding the window
Don’t take the window away
and leave a hole in the stark mountains
The clothesline and the grey clothespins
would make you think we’re going to be together always
Last night I dreamed
you were Buddha’s wife
and I was a historian watching you sleep
What vanity
A girl told me something beautiful
Very early in the morning
she saw an orange-painted wooden boat
come into port over the smooth sea
The cargo was hay
The boat rode low under the weight
She couldn’t see the sailors
but on top of all the hay sat a monk
Because of the sun behind he seemed
to be sitting in a fire
like that famous photograph
I forgot to tell you the story
She surprised me by telling it
and I wanted her for ten minutes
I really enjoyed the gardenia from Sophia’s courtyard
You put it on my table two hours ago
and I can smell it everywhere in the house
Darling I attach nothing to it
July 4, 1963
ORDER
In many movies I came upon an idol
I would not touch, whose forehead jewel
was safe, or if stolen – mourned.
Truly, I wanted the lost forbidden city
to be the labyrinth for wise technicolor
birds, and every human riddle
the love-fed champion pursued
I knew was bad disguise for greed.
I was with the snake who made his nest
in the voluptuous treasure, I dropped
with the spider to threaten the trail-bruised
white skin of the girl who was searching
for her brother, I balanced on the limb
with the leopard who had to be content
with Negroes and double-crossers
and never tasted but a slash of hero flesh.
Even after double-pay I deserted
with the bearers, believing every rumour
the wind brought from the mountain pass.
The old sorceress, the spilled wine,
the black cards convinced me:
the timeless laws must not be broken.
When the lovers got away with the loot
of new-valued life or love, or bought
themselves a share in time by letting
the avalanche seal away for ever
the gold goblets and platters, I knew
a million ways the jungle might have been
meaner and smarter. As the red sun
came down on their embrace I shouted
from my velvet seat, Get them, get them,
to all the animals drugged with anarchy and happiness.
August 6, 1963
DESTINY
I want your warm body to disappear
politely and leave me alone in the bath
because I want to consider my destiny.
Destiny! why do you find me in this bathtub,
idle, alone, unwashed, without even
the intention of washing except at the last moment?
Why don’t you find me at the top of a telephone pole,
repairing the lines from city to city?
Why don’t you find me riding a horse through Cuba,
a giant of a man with a red machete?
Why don’t you find me explaining machines
to underprivileged pupils, negroid Spaniards,
happy it is not a course in creative writing?
Come back here, little warm body,
it’s time for another day.
Destiny has fled and I settle for you
who found me staring
