The Poetry Of.
Kenneth Widmerpool...............
Ondine II
When her eyes sweep by mine
For the last time this year
As she turns from me to reach
The searching separating gate
Where does she go?
Does she reclaim her carryon?
Put on her shoes?
Or does she vanish
To be no more among we fools
But in her magic natural land
Where there may dwell
Creatures fey and wondrous as she
Who like Ondine have forgotten.
The moments on earth in the sunshine.
Pills
For a long time after it was over
After I understood it was over
I took these white round pills
I thought it was better than drinking.
I slept most of the day
But dreamed only one dream of her
She was walking away down the street
Her hair was up and she wore a white polo
And her large bag was over her left shoulder.
But I dreamed it all the time
And had to stop those pills
And once more take up drinking
The Beach
In slanting sun beyond the beach
I saw her from the mooring
Golden hair in pigtail
Tall young soft bright
Surrounded by her red life jacket
Near the fence
Then turning and waving at me
God please forgive me these cliches
But bless this moment
Which I shall hold until I die
Salt Marsh
Whenever I fall into despair
As I so often do when
She is silent for too long
Or pushes me away from her
While we are greeting
With those kisses one statesman gives another
I reassure myself my feeling is desire.
Brute lust. Need of the kind
One feels for such a body
Strong tall and shaped as Caryatids
Were in ancient days in ancient places.
I calm myself and mend my heart by
Thinking of her as object.
Commodity to be used to be consumed.
But then she comes toward me in the room
And sits in light that takes its brilliance
From her smile and from those gleaming eyes
And I see in profile her chin resting on her hand
Her neck, her nose, her concentration
The angle of her head poised on that neck
Her funny feet.
Or walking in the silent mist
She takes a leaf and puts it in her book
Or asks again to take a picture of the empty marsh
That is a metaphor for life when she's not near
Or in the pond that is our sacred place
Or in the tower of Bruges that she has blessed
Or standing in her black coat hair disordered
Crying at the edge of the Grande Place
Or looking from high sunny places at the city of all time
And the angels and the devils all combine
To sing a song of love where there is sure desire
But awe and amazement overwhelm it
And all joy swells to total joy
Just at the touch of her hand.
And she is Holy Holy Holy
Some day another better and more relevant than I
Will come to her and feel this way
And she will know and make her life with him
Giving the kisses she will not give to me
But from time to time
On both gray and sunny days
Perhaps she will smile and say to herself
I knew a poet and he loved me.
I was for a time his mermaid.
And as an afterthought might smile again
And think but he loved me as a woman
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