Collected Love Poems. Brian Patten
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Название: Collected Love Poems

Автор: Brian Patten

Издательство: HarperCollins

Жанр: Поэзия

Серия:

isbn: 9780007343515

isbn:

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      And loneliness sufficient to warrant

      A meeting of opposites.

      How easily forgotten then

      What was first felt—

      An anchor lifted from the blood,

      Sensations intense as any lunatic’s,

      Ruined by unaccustomary events,

      Let drop because of weariness.

       The Ambush

      When the face you swore never to forget

      Can no longer be remembered,

      When a list of regrets is torn up and thrown away

      Then the hurt fades,

      And you think you’ve grown strong.

      You sit in bars and boast to yourself,

      ‘Never again will I be vulnerable.

      It was an aberration to be so open,

      A folly, never to be repeated.’

      How absurd and fragile such promises.

      Hidden from you, crouched

      Among the longings you have suppressed

      And the desires you imagine tamed,

      A sweet pain waits in ambush.

      And there will come a day when in a field

      Heaven’s mouth gapes open,

      And on a web the shadow

      Of a marigold will smoulder.

      Then without warning,

      Without a shred of comfort,

      Emotions you thought had been put aside

      Will flare up within you and bleed you of reason.

      The routines which comforted you,

      And the habits in which you sought refuge

      Will bend like sunlight under water,

      And go astray.

      Once again your body will become a banquet,

      Falling heavenwards.

      You will loll in spring’s sweet avalanche

      Without the burden of memory,

      And once again

      Monstrous love will swallow you.

       A Blade of Grass

      You ask for a poem.

      I offer you a blade of grass.

      You say it is not good enough.

      You ask for a poem.

      I say this blade of grass will do.

      It has dressed itself in frost,

      It is more immediate

      Than any image of my making.

      You say it is not a poem,

      It is a blade of grass and grass

      Is not quite good enough.

      I offer you a blade of grass.

      You are indignant.

      You say it is too easy to offer grass.

      It is absurd.

      Anyone can offer a blade of grass.

      You ask for a poem.

      And so I write you a tragedy about

      How a blade of grass

      Becomes more and more difficult to offer,

      And about how as you grow older

      A blade of grass

      Becomes more difficult to accept.

       What I Need for the Present

      Thanks, but please take back

      the trinket box, the picture

      made from butterfly wings and

      the crystal glass.

      Please take back the books,

      the postcards, the beeswax candles,

      the potted plant, the Hockney print

      and the expensive pen.

      Ungracious of me to say it, but

      so many gifts that are given

      are given in lieu of what

      cannot be given.

      Ungracious to say it, but

      wherever I move in this room

      it’s not these gifts I see, but your absense

      that accumulates on them like dust.

      Forgive me. Your intentions

      were so very kind, but here’s

      your box of fetters back. It’s not

      what I need for the present.

       Through All Your Abstract Reasoning

      Coming back one evening through deserted fields

      when the birds, drowsy with sleep,

      have all but forgotten you,

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