the candle flickering
the shadows
on the wall
tonight
bring back a memory
of you dancing
in candlelight
in that house
in Cleveland
the dog curled up
on the shag rug
asleep
the only witness
me
not so drunk
not to know
that life
would never be
any better
than this
you dancing
in candlelight
for me
poem: i like my body by e. e. cummings
i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like my body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it-comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you so quite new
The Way by Robert Creeley
My love’s manners in bed
are not to be discussed by me,
as mine by her
I would not credit comment upon gracefully.
Yet I ride by the margin of that lake in
the wood, the castle,
and the excitement of strongholds;
and have a small boy’s notion of doing good.
Oh well, I will say here,
knowing each man,
let you find a good wife too,
and love her as hard as you can.
from Marriage by Gregory Corso: for Jim DeSalvo wherever he might be who is probably reciting the entire poem in some bar to anyone drunk enough to listen as I listened as we all listened so many centuries ago
Should I get married? Should I be good?
Astound the girl next door with my velvet suit and faustus hood?
Don’t take her to movies but to cemeteries
tell all about werewolf bathtubs and forked clarinets
then desire her and kiss her and all the preliminaries
and she going just so far and I understand why
not getting angry saying You must feel! It’s beautiful to feel!
Instead take her in my arms lean against an old crooked tombstone
and woo her the entire night the constellations in the sky—-
Marriage by Wendell Berry
How hard is it for me, who live
in the excitement of women
and have the desire for them
in my mouth like salt. Yet
you have taken me and quieted me.
You have been such light to me
that other women have been
your shadows. You come near me
with the nearness of sleep.
And yet I am not quiet.
It is to be broken. It is to be
torn open. It is not to be
reached and come to rest in
ever. I turn against you,
I break from you, I turn to you.
We hurt, and are hurt,
and have each other for healing.
It is healing. It is never whole.
on hearing California Dreamin’ once again decades later
hearing those harmonies
evoking the dream
to be safe
and warm
far from brown leaves
and gray skies
in the LA
of our collective fantasy
where once long ago
I left that promise
of warmth
for the slap
in the face
of the cold air
of reality
Earth and Fire by Wendell Berry
In this woman the earth speaks.
Her words open in me, cells of light
flashing in my body, and make a song
that I follow toward her out of my need.
The pain I have given her I wear
like another skin, tender, the air
around me flashing with thorns.
And yet such joy as I have given her
sings in me and is part of her song.
The winds of her knees shake me
like a flame. I have risen from her,
time and again, a new man.
The Plan by Wendell Berry
My old friend, the owner
of a new boat, stops by
to ask me to fish with him,
and I say I will–both of us
knowing that we may never
get around to it, it may be
years before we’re both
idle again on the same day.
But we make a plan, anyhow,
in honor of friendship
and the fine spring weather
and the new boat
and our sudden thought
of the water shining
under the morning fog.
I see no reason not to repost my Thanksgiving poem yet again: for my brothers: Johnny, George, & Robert, and for Rita all on the other side of the world
And so, once again, my Thanksgiving Day poem
there are voices calling my name
on the other side of the world
an empty chair
a glass not filled with wine
dark meat with gravy
stuffing with mushrooms
manicotti
and Robert’s famous meatballs and gravy
hot and sweet sausage
broccoli with garlic, lemon and oil
Johnny bought blueberry pie
only I’m not getting a piece
’cause I’m over here
on the other side of the world
quietly finishing a bottle of wine
trying not to think of your voice
the sorrow in the air
fresh flowers don’t quite kill the smell
of disappointment
regret
another year gone by
that empty chair
that bottle of wine unopened
ice cream melting on a plate
Al Martino singing love songs
George serving salad
and you sliding food onto my plate
the cat under the table
my hand reaching across
space
grabbing nothing
grabbing air
on the other side
of the world
Sky by Juan Ramon Jimenez
I had forgotten you,
sky, and you were nothing
more than a vague existence of light,
even without name,
by my weary, lazy eyes.
And you would appear, among the idle
discouraged words of the traveler,
like a series of tiny lagoons
seen in a watery landscape of dreams . . .
Today I gazed at you slowly,
and you are rising as high as your name.
translated by Dennis Maloney & Clark Zlotchew
Leonard Durso 