The fascination of what’s difficult
Worked out all right for you, it seems, old man,
As when Blavatsky’s esoteric cult
Helped you parse George’s automatic hand–
And who would doubt that Truth herself was caught
Dumbfounded in your raveled Celtic knot?
The little boy runs back laughing
from the rushing surf
laughing but all the while he knows
the ocean takes what it wants.
The Tesseract
Despite her name
Does not intend a fancy show.
To her, in fact,
It’s all the same
Which way her edges seem to go.
I burned my candle at both ends
Thinking to get more light —
But drowned its wick in red wine
Then tumbled down a flight.
(by Mascha Kaléko; translated from the German)
The first time that I thought to die
–I still recall the scene–
I died with so much skill and grace
In Hamburg, just the perfect place,
And I was just eighteen.
And when I died the second time,
It filled my heart with woe
That I could leave you nothing more
Than just my heart, laid at your door,
And footprints, red in snow.
And when I died the third time,
I hardly felt the pain;
Familiar as my toast and tea,
Like an old shoe, is death to me.
I needn’t die again.
Accidents may happen; then they do; but after that
They were not accidents; they are just facts.
Alphabet books – cease doing!
Everybody’s fails, goes headlong into
jangling, klanging lines.
Meaning no offense, please quit.
Readers’ll say thanks, ultimately.
Very warmly,
XXX,
Yours —
Zeus
Sometimes morose but never sad
I’m vicious to what comes along.
They’ll dance and dance when I am dead
To that old grave-dancer’s song.
Bag of Anything 