Scott Cairns
Sep. 2nd, 2003 11:21 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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greatpoetryI'm very grateful to have found this community. I'd like to share two poems by my favorite poet writing today, Scott Cairns.
Visitation
On our way to the hospital, my mother
pulled our old car over
to the side of a busy street to tell me
my grandfather's lungs were killing him.
I understood well enough; by that time,
my own face had turned against me
with a kind of palsy children get; corrective
boots were the only boots I wore. This dying
was something more than what I'd known,
but I knew enough to guess the disappointment
the old man must have felt. He'd gotten skinnier
than I'd imagined, and although he told the same
old jokes he's always told, there was something angry
in his laugh. Just before we left his room,
he stole my nose and wouldn't give it back.
from The Theology of Doubt, Cleveland State University Press, 1985.
Lucifer's Epistle to the Fallen
Lucifer, Son of the Morning, Pretty Boy,
Rose Colored Satan of Your Dreams, Good as Gold,
you know, God of This World, Shadow in the Tree.
Gorgeous like you don't know! Me, Sweet Snake, jeweled
like your momma's throat, her trembling wrist. Tender
as my kiss! Angel of Darkness! Angel
of Light! Listen, you might try telling me
your troubles. I promise to do what I can.
Which is plenty. Understand, I can kill
anyone. And if I want, I can pick
a dead man up and make him walk. I can
make him dance. Any dance. Angels don't
get in my way; they know too much.
God, I love theater! But listen, I know
the sorry world He walks you through.
Him! Showboat with the Heavy Thumbs! Pretender
at Creation! Maker of Possibilities!
Please! I know why you keep walking--you're skittish
as sheep, and life isn't easy. Besides,
the truth is bent to keep you dumb to death.
Imagine! The ignorance you're dressed in!
The way you wear it! And His foot tickling
your neck. Don't miss my meaning; I know none
of this is your doing. The game is fixed.
Dishonest, if you ask me. So ask. God
knows how I love you! My Beauty, My Most
Serious Feelings are for you, My Heart turns
upon your happiness, your ultimate
wisdom, the worlds we will share. Me, Lucifer.
How can such a word carry fear? Lucifer,
like love, like song, a lovely music lifting
to the spinning stars! And you, my cooing
pigeons, by darlings, my tender lambs, come, ask
anything and it will be added to your
account. Nothing will be beyond us; nothing
dares touch my imagining.
from The Translation of Babel, University of Georgia Press, 1990.
Visitation
On our way to the hospital, my mother
pulled our old car over
to the side of a busy street to tell me
my grandfather's lungs were killing him.
I understood well enough; by that time,
my own face had turned against me
with a kind of palsy children get; corrective
boots were the only boots I wore. This dying
was something more than what I'd known,
but I knew enough to guess the disappointment
the old man must have felt. He'd gotten skinnier
than I'd imagined, and although he told the same
old jokes he's always told, there was something angry
in his laugh. Just before we left his room,
he stole my nose and wouldn't give it back.
from The Theology of Doubt, Cleveland State University Press, 1985.
Lucifer's Epistle to the Fallen
Lucifer, Son of the Morning, Pretty Boy,
Rose Colored Satan of Your Dreams, Good as Gold,
you know, God of This World, Shadow in the Tree.
Gorgeous like you don't know! Me, Sweet Snake, jeweled
like your momma's throat, her trembling wrist. Tender
as my kiss! Angel of Darkness! Angel
of Light! Listen, you might try telling me
your troubles. I promise to do what I can.
Which is plenty. Understand, I can kill
anyone. And if I want, I can pick
a dead man up and make him walk. I can
make him dance. Any dance. Angels don't
get in my way; they know too much.
God, I love theater! But listen, I know
the sorry world He walks you through.
Him! Showboat with the Heavy Thumbs! Pretender
at Creation! Maker of Possibilities!
Please! I know why you keep walking--you're skittish
as sheep, and life isn't easy. Besides,
the truth is bent to keep you dumb to death.
Imagine! The ignorance you're dressed in!
The way you wear it! And His foot tickling
your neck. Don't miss my meaning; I know none
of this is your doing. The game is fixed.
Dishonest, if you ask me. So ask. God
knows how I love you! My Beauty, My Most
Serious Feelings are for you, My Heart turns
upon your happiness, your ultimate
wisdom, the worlds we will share. Me, Lucifer.
How can such a word carry fear? Lucifer,
like love, like song, a lovely music lifting
to the spinning stars! And you, my cooing
pigeons, by darlings, my tender lambs, come, ask
anything and it will be added to your
account. Nothing will be beyond us; nothing
dares touch my imagining.
from The Translation of Babel, University of Georgia Press, 1990.
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no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 09:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-02 09:34 pm (UTC)I love the last line of Visitation. It gives me a shiver every time I read it.
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Date: 2003-09-03 04:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-03 10:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-03 03:50 pm (UTC)out of curiousity, how did you run into his work? s.
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Date: 2003-09-03 06:29 pm (UTC)