Poetry

Xenia

* I 1 Dear little insect —they called you Mosca, I don’t know why— this evening as I was reading Deutero-Isaiah in the near-dark you reappeared beside me; but you didn’t have glasses, you couldn’t see me, and I couldn’t recognize you in the dusk without their glitter. 2 No glasses or antennae, poor insect,…

Drifting

For whom do I speak, now, so far away from home? For whom do I write, now, so far away from myself? I speak for the experience of the flux I’ve become; I write for the concrete to fill in the distances from the house on the road I lived on, from the warm home…

His Other Life

On Boul Miche Idling at the curb In a rented car, Ready to go. But I have forgotten something! It’s my hat, of course: “Of all things Why would Daddy forget His darling hat?” I leave the motor running, Bolt through the great doors And past the concierge. Horns are blowing Out there where I…

A Great Sensibility

     You live among the remnants of an ancient civilization that has left behind it an intricate system of canals and waterways. No one understands the books and rituals your ancestors handed down to you, but somehow everybody assumes that it must be necessary to maintain the waterways to irrigate the rice crop.      Only at the…

Brododaktylos

     You’re over seven feet tall and weigh close to three hundred pounds, but you’re so well proportioned that nobody ever realizes just how big you are until he sees you standing next to another human being. Your manner with other people is gentle and considerate.      One afternoon while you’re sitting in a bar with friends,…

The Megalopolitans

It wasn’t my grandfather’s. He lectured at Tremont Hall On a snowy night. As a starter—just to break the ice—he cracked: “I’m glad the both of you could come.” There wasn’t even scattered laughter In the half empty house. After his peroration And after he had swept off back stage His Prince Albert skirts Breezing…

Abusing the Confidence of a Child

     Several miles in the distance clouds of dust rose hundreds of feet in the air, marking the passage of the more than two hundred thousand pilgrims who were making their way deep into the phosphate-rich Spanish Sahara.      Frankie pulled her white illustrated T-shirt over her head and bared her firm young breasts to the onslaught…

Who’s on First?

“You can be so inconsiderate.”                        ”You are too sensitive.” “Then why don’t you take my feelings into consideration?”                              ”If you weren’t so sensitive it wouldn’t matter.” *     *      * “You seem to really care about me only when you want me to do something for you.”            ”You do…