Jimmy's Blues and Other Poems Read Online Free PDF Page B

Paul.

A lady like landscapes (for Simone Signoret)
    A lady like landscapes,
    wearing time like an amusing shawl
    thrown over her shoulders
    by a friend at the bazaar:
    Every once in a while she turns in it
    just like a little girl,
    this way and that way:
    Regarde
.
    Ã‡a n’était pas donné bien sûr
    mais c’est quand même beau, non?
    Oui, Oui
.
    Et toi aussi
.
    Ou plutôt belle
    since you are a lady.
    It is impossible to tell
    how beautiful, how real, unanswerable,
    becomes your landscape as you move in it,
    how beautiful the shawl.

Guilt, Desire and Love
    At the dark street corner
    where Guilt and Desire
    are attempting to stare
    each other down
    (presently, one of them
    will light a cigarette
    and glance in the direction
    of the abandoned warehouse)
    Love came slouching along,
    an exploded silence
    standing a little apart
    but visible anyway
    in the yellow, silent, steaming light,
    while Guilt and Desire wrangled,
    trying not to be overheard
    by this trespasser.
    Each time Desire looked towards Love,
    hoping to find a witness,
    Guilt shouted louder
    and shook them hips
    and the fire of the cigarette
    threatened to burn the warehouse down.
    Desire actually started across the street,
    time after time,
    to hear what Love might have to say,
    but Guilt flagged down a truckload
    of other people
    and knelt down in the middle of the street
    and, while the truckload of other people
    looked away, and swore that they
    didn’t see nothing
    and couldn’t testify nohow,
    and Love moved out of sight,
    Guilt accomplished upon the standing body
    of Desire
    the momentary, inflammatory soothing
    which seals their union
    (for ever?)
    and creates a mighty traffic problem.

Death is easy (for Jefe)
    1
    Death is easy.
    One is compelled to understand
    that moment
    which, anyway, occurs
    over and over and over.
    Lord,
    sitting here now,
    with my boy with a toothache
    in the bed yonder,
    asleep, I hope,
    and me, awake,
    so far away,
    cursing the toothache,
    cursing myself,
    cursing the fence
    of pain.
    2
    Pain is not easy;
    reduces one to
    toothaches
    which may or may not
    be real,
    but which are real
    enough
    to make one sleep,
    or wake,
    or decide
    that death is easy.
    3
    It is dreadful to be
    so violently dispersed.
    To dare hope for nothing,
    and yet dare to hope.
    To know that hoping
    and not hoping
    are both criminal endeavours,
    and, yet, to play one’s cards.
    4
    If
    I could tell you
    anything about myself:
    if I knew something
    useful—:
    if I could ride,
    master,
    the storm of the unknown
    me,
    well, then, I could prevent
    the panic of toothaches.
    If I knew
    something,
    if I could recover
    something,
    well, then,
    I could kiss the toothache
    away,
    and be with my lover,
    who doesn’t, after all,
    like toothaches.
    5
    Death is easy
    when,
    if,
    love dies.
    Anguish is the no-man’s-land
    focused in the eyes.

Mirrors (for David)
    1
    Although you know
    what’s best for me,
    I cannot act on what you see.
    I wish I could:
    I really would,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â and joyfully,
    act out my salvation
    with your imagination.
    2
    Although I may not see your heart,
    or fearful well-springs of your art,
    I know enough to stare
    down danger, anywhere.
    I know enough to tell
    you to go to hell
    and when I think you’re wrong
    I will not go along.
    I have a right to tremble
    when you begin to crumble.
    Your life is my life, too,
    and nothing you can do
    will make you something other
    than my mule-headed brother.

A Lover’s Question
    My country,
    â€™tis of thee
    I sing.
    You, enemy of all tribes,
    known, unknown, past,
    present, or,
    perhaps, above all,
    to come:
    I sing:
    my dear,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â my darling,
    jewel
    (Columbia, the gem of
    the ocean!)
    or, as I, a street nigger,
    would put it—:
    (Okay. I’m
your
nigger
    baby, till I get bigger!)
    You are my heart.
    Why
    have you allowed yourself
    to become