Uncertain Morning

Three from the Spanish:

SONNET XVII
—Pablo Neruda

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

(Translated from the Spanish by Stephen Mitchell)

________________________

THE GRADE-SCHOOL ANGELS
—Rafael Alberti

None of us understood the dark secret of the blackboards
nor why the armillary sphere seemed so remote when we looked at it.
We knew only that a circumference does not have to be round
and that an eclipse of the mooon confuses the flowers
and speeds up the timing of birds.

None of us understood anything:
not even why our fingers were made of India ink
and the afternoon closed compasses only to have the dawn open books.
We knew only that a straight line, if it likes, can be curved or broken
and that the wandering stars are children who don't know arithmetic.

(Translated from the Spanish by Mark Strand)

_______________________

PAINTED WINDOWS
—Gloria Fuertes

I lived in a house
with two real windows and the other two painted on:
Those painted windows caused my first sorrow.
I'd touch the sides of the hall
trying to reach the windows from inside.
I spent my whole childhood wanting
to lean out and see what could be seen
from the windows that weren't there.

(Translated from the Spanish by Philip Levine)

_______________________

The Mirror-Fest On-goes:

Two more mirror poems, this time from David Humphreys and Taylor Graham. You have until midnight tonight (7/25) to send in your own poems about mirrors and get a free poetry surprise in the mail! Send them to kathykieth@hotmail.com, or (postmarked by midnight tonight) P.O. Box 1647, Orangevale, CA 95662.

AQUARIUM
—Taylor Graham, Somerset

Uncertain morning, just the fish-lamp on.
The mirror’s eye glows dim before a dawn.
You fed the goldfish, then you drove away
behind a pair of headlights. Saturday
comes overcast with all its curtains drawn.

Two fish, one brackish and the other wan,
swim circles, ripples as on water drawn.
Their tank is cozy as a teacup bay.
Uncertain morning,

and we’re so very far from Avalon.
Fish swim. As if this one phenomenon
gave hope or courage in its wordless way.
I open drapes. The mirror, silver-gray,
casts shimmers like the feather of a swan.
Uncertain morning.

________________________

GREY BEARD
—David Humphreys, Stockton

You walk through life as though
each moment was meant for you alone
hung in a gallery for private viewing.
Of course, there was no one else who might have
seen it through your eyes exactly or from
the perspective bottled up in your particular skull.
You've always moved from one
room of gilt framed artwork to the next,
taken by a splash of color or line of detail,
approving this, but not perhaps of that.
After innumerable miles strolling along
sipping chardonnay with crackers and brie,
you finally turn the corner and confront a stranger
in the mirror self portrait, beard gone from ocher
to ghostly gray, mortality abruptly overtaking you
as if you weren't actually the center of the universe
after all.

_______________________

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)