Стихи и эссе

Others had swerved off to the left before,
But only under protest from outside,
Embittered robbers outlawed by the Law,
Lepers in terror of the terrified.

Now no one else accused these of a crime;

They did not look ill: old friends, overcome,
Stared as they rolled away from talk and time
Like marbles out into the blank and dumb.

The crowd clung all the closer to convention

Sunshine and horses, for the sane know why
The even numbers should ignore the odd:

The Nameless is what no free people mention;

Successful men know better than to try
To see the face of their Absconded God.

18. The Adventurers

Spinning upon their central thirst like tops,
They went the Negative Way toward the Dry;
Be empty caves beneath an empty sky
They emptied out their memories like a slop

Which made a foul marsh as they dried to death,

Where monsters bred who forced them to forget
The lovelies their consent avoided; yet
Still praising the Absurd with their last breath.

They seeded out into their miracles:

The images of each grotesque temptation
Became some painter's happiest inspiration;

And barren wives and burning virgins came

To drink the pure cold water of their wells,
And wish for beaux and children in their name.

19. The Waters

Poet, oracle and wit
Like unsuccessful anglers by
The ponds of apperception sit,
Baiting with the wrong request
The vectors of their interest;
At nightfall tell the angler's lie.

With time in tempest everywhere,

To rafts of frail assumption cling
The saintly and the insincere;
Enraged phenomena bear down
In overwhelming waves to drown
Both sufferer and suffering.

The waters long to hear our question put

Which would release their longed-for answer, but.

20. The Garden

Within these gates all opening begins:
White shouts and flickers through its green and red,
Where children play at seven earnest sins
And dogs believe their tall conditions dead.

Here adolescence into number breaks

The perfect circle time can draw on stone,
And flesh forgives division as it makes
Another's moment of consent its own.

All journeys die here; wish and weight are lifted:

Where often round some old maid's desolation
Roses have flung their glory like a cloak,

The gaunt and great the famed for conversation

Blushed in the stare of evening as they spoke,
And felt their center of volition shifted.

Good-Bye to the Mezzogiorno (for Carlo Izzo)