Why art thou silent and invisible, Father of Jealousy? Why dost thou hide thyself in clouds From every searching eye? Why darkness and obscurity In all thy words and laws, That none dare eat the fruit but from The wily Serpent's jaws? Or is it because secrecy gains females' loud applause?
Jesus Dies Anne Sexton
From up here in the crow’s nest I see a small crowd gather. Who do you gather, my townsmen? There is no news here. I am not a trapeze artist. I am busy with my dying. Three heads lolling, bobbing like bladders. No news, The soldiers down below laughing as soldiers have done for centuries. No news, We are the same men, you and I, the same sort of nostrils, the same sort of feet. My bones are oiled with blood and so are yours. My heart pumps like a jack rabbit in a trap and so does yours. I want to kiss God on His nose and watch Him sneeze and so do you. Not out of disrespect. Out if pique. Out of a man-to-man thing. I want heaven to descend and sit on My dinner plate and so do you. I want God to put His steaming arms around Me and so do you. Because we need, Because we are sore creatures. My townsmen, go home now. I will do nothing extraordinary. I will not divide in two. I will not pick out My white eyes. Go now, this is a personal matter, a private affair and God knows none of your business.
Revelation Richard Chess
Though there is no cure, he seeks one In the discussions of the rabbis, in the shade Of the eucalyptus, in the bones of St. Peter fish, In the lyrics of Arik Einstein, in Gitanes. Before sleep, uniform slumped To the ground, pen capped, letter To the prime minister sealed, he seeks a cure In the expansive dark of the desert. In the coffee house, enchanted by a folk singer. In the shade of the eucalyptus, daydreaming. Best to forget the offerings, how much oil and grain, How many calves, how many pigeons. Forget where the moon is in its cycle. When the first set ends, when the shade moves, He wills to carry the forgetting forward. He wills to practice forgetting when he laces His shoe, when he describes a recurring dream To the prisoner who has a reputation For his interpretations, when he gazes at a ship On the horizon, when he wakes to the face Facing his. This is the first time He has seen her in morning light. What is the prayer? She belongs to Christ, he remembers as he strokes Her breast. He will forget this morning, Like he forgot yesterday morning, their lying Together late on a mattress issued by the state. Though there is no cure, he seeks one Where he works, in a novel, in the kiss He receives from a rabbi of infinite patience. He forgets fringes and his friends who have stepped Outside for a smoke between sets. He forgets Which of them has lately become a pacifist, Which has purchased a ticket for the far east. He wills to practice forgetting the scent Of her hair, the taste of her tongue. Though there is no cure, he seeks one On the broken temple steps, He seeks one in the morning light Which reveals and reveals her face.
no subject
William Blake
Why art thou silent and invisible,
Father of Jealousy?
Why dost thou hide thyself in clouds
From every searching eye?
Why darkness and obscurity
In all thy words and laws,
That none dare eat the fruit but from
The wily Serpent's jaws?
Or is it because secrecy gains females' loud applause?
Jesus Dies
Anne Sexton
From up here in the crow’s nest
I see a small crowd gather.
Who do you gather, my townsmen?
There is no news here.
I am not a trapeze artist.
I am busy with my dying.
Three heads lolling,
bobbing like bladders.
No news,
The soldiers down below
laughing as soldiers have done for centuries.
No news,
We are the same men,
you and I,
the same sort of nostrils,
the same sort of feet.
My bones are oiled with blood
and so are yours.
My heart pumps like a jack rabbit in a trap
and so does yours.
I want to kiss God on His nose and watch Him sneeze
and so do you.
Not out of disrespect.
Out if pique.
Out of a man-to-man thing.
I want heaven to descend and sit on My dinner plate
and so do you.
I want God to put His steaming arms around Me
and so do you.
Because we need,
Because we are sore creatures.
My townsmen,
go home now.
I will do nothing extraordinary.
I will not divide in two.
I will not pick out My white eyes.
Go now,
this is a personal matter,
a private affair and God knows
none of your business.
Revelation
Richard Chess
Though there is no cure, he seeks one
In the discussions of the rabbis, in the shade
Of the eucalyptus, in the bones of St. Peter fish,
In the lyrics of Arik Einstein, in Gitanes.
Before sleep, uniform slumped
To the ground, pen capped, letter
To the prime minister sealed, he seeks a cure
In the expansive dark of the desert.
In the coffee house, enchanted by a folk singer.
In the shade of the eucalyptus, daydreaming.
Best to forget the offerings, how much oil and grain,
How many calves, how many pigeons.
Forget where the moon is in its cycle.
When the first set ends, when the shade moves,
He wills to carry the forgetting forward.
He wills to practice forgetting when he laces
His shoe, when he describes a recurring dream
To the prisoner who has a reputation
For his interpretations, when he gazes at a ship
On the horizon, when he wakes to the face
Facing his. This is the first time
He has seen her in morning light. What is the prayer?
She belongs to Christ, he remembers as he strokes
Her breast. He will forget this morning,
Like he forgot yesterday morning, their lying
Together late on a mattress issued by the state.
Though there is no cure, he seeks one
Where he works, in a novel, in the kiss
He receives from a rabbi of infinite patience.
He forgets fringes and his friends who have stepped
Outside for a smoke between sets. He forgets
Which of them has lately become a pacifist,
Which has purchased a ticket for the far east.
He wills to practice forgetting the scent
Of her hair, the taste of her tongue.
Though there is no cure, he seeks one
On the broken temple steps,
He seeks one in the morning light
Which reveals and reveals her face.