George Garrett
They roll up the sidewalks all over town
by 11:30 p.m. Lord, by midnight there's nothing
doing, moving. Lone streetlights glare
like one-eyed giants, do not dare to dance.
Here and there a late place burns pale
fire to keep back the beasts of the night.
Somebody's sick, you think (like Huck),
or, less innocent, project the lewd
fantastic, the cheap frail beams
of poor Imagination gone awry
into those naked rooms. Alas
for the cop on the corner who gives you
a glass-eyed stare, and for the last car
weaving the pavement like a lonesome drunk.
Dancers, giants, heroes and dreamers,
where are you now? It's a fact—
when the heart breaks it doesn't make a sound.
I remain in my, 'Ich habe nichts zu sagen,' phase, which may be a long one, but see in that no reason for the poets to keep silence. If you must attribute aim and sense to me (as I do not), then interpret my presumed themes as you will. This is poetry, not physics. There are no wrong answers.
Friendship After Love
After the fierce midsummer all ablaze
Has burned itself to ashes, and expires
In the intensity of its own fires,
There come the mellow, mild, St. Martin days
Crowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze.
So after love has led us, till he tires
Of his own throes, and torments, and desires,
Comes large-eyed friendship: with a restful gaze,
He beckons us to follow, and across
Cool verdant vales we wander free from care.
Is it a touch of frost lies in the air?
Why are we haunted with a sense of loss?
We do not wish the pain back, or the heat;
And yet, and yet, these days are incomplete.
Waves
Robin Robertson
I have swum too far
out of my depth
and the sun has gone;
the hung weight of my legs
a plumb-line,
my fingers raw, my arms lead;
the currents pull like weed
and I am very tired
and cold, and moving out to sea.
The beach is still bright.
The children I never had
run to the edge
and back to their beautiful mother
who smile at them, looks up
from her magazine, and waves.
Elevator Music
Henry Taylor
A tune with no more substance than the air,
performed on underwater instruments,
is proper to this short lift from the earth.
It hovers as we draw into ourselves
and turn our reverent eyes toward the lights
that count us to our various destinies.
We're all in this together, the song says,
and later we'll descend. The melody
is like a name we don't recall just now
that still keeps on insisting it is there.
