Poems

Larkin

Larkin's poems have no warmth,

Just icy English chill,

Cynical and bittersweet,

As the Muses will.

Poignance, sense and perfect form

Exactly as they seem -

There's madness there. Or so oblique

They're useless as a dream.

8-25-13

The Story

“The Sphinx Without A Secret” -

Did Edna ever read it?

Did she know the story

When she wrote the “Bluebeard” sonnet?

Both are very clever,

Poignant and profound.

Genius made them both,

And very much alike.

4-6-13

After he had summoned up

After he had summoned up

A dream out of the sea

And made the universe, - this deity,

What did he then?

He caused himself

Not ever to have been.

 

Pococurante, the sea

Pococurante, the sea

Once was the mother of me.

There in the fog and the mist

By the waves and the swells I was kissed.

Nurtured and warm

By a storm on the sand

I was giving my form

By a hand

From the soul of the sea.

 

A Meadow

I see a summer meadow, sweet with gold

Swaying in a free thalassic breeze

That's salty with the scent of ocean spray.

I see two birds sink slowly in the sky,

And rise again, descend, as of they were

The shadows of two branches in the wind.

To sit upon a stone and see the sky -

A whisper overhead, the sky appears

As happy as a baby's nascent smile,

Without a mist, where random bits of clouds

Like cotton ragged-torn from larger hunks

Without direction wander in the blue.

We're both fumbling in the dark

We're both fumbling in the dark,

Making love out of nothing,

Less substantial than a touch,

You more expressive,

More supportive than I.

I am cold,

But I'll be human

When the ghosts are dead,

And sleep will emerge from my heart

To encompass you.

And we'll breathe together,

You and I.

To – Who Thought Of It

Come visit me, my olden love.

Renew and warmly make an

Acquaintanceship in current love

And gently reawaken

Those tender feelings in my heart

That I have not forsaken.

My love requires no design.

It simply can be taken.

The winter's gone, the flowers bloom

Among the matted clover.

Come sit with me and do not say

That yesterday is over.

Be with me as you were, my love,

My ancient love the same.

And lay a flower on my stone

And sit beside my name.

Somewhere a cat

Somewhere a cat

Rubs its side against a fence.

That's sleep.

Cobwebs between doorless jambs

Are doors.

That's the moon.

Dark purple wine

Splashes down the sides

Of a lead mug.

That's the night.