Instructed by the Years

THE TRAVELLER
—John Berryman

They pointed me out on the highway, and they said
"That man has a curious way of holding his head."

They pointed me out on the beach; they said "That man
will never become as we are, try as he can."

They pointed me out at the station, and the guard
Looked at me twice, thrice, thoughtfully & hard.

I took the same train that the others took,
To the same place. Were it not for that look
And those words, we were all of us the same.
I studied merely maps. I tried to name
The effects of motion on the travellers,
I watched the couple I could see, the curse
And blessings of that couple, their destination,
The deception practised on them at the station,
Their courage. When the train stopped and they knew
The end of their journey, I descended too.

______________________

PARTING AS DESCENT
—John Berryman

They sun rushed up the sky; the taxi flew;
There was a kind of fever on the clock
That morning. We arrived at Waterloo
With time to spare and couldn't find my track.

The bitter coffee in a small cafe
Gave us our conversation. When the train
Began to move, I saw you turn away
And vanish, and the vessels in my brain

Burst, the train roared, the other travellers
In flames leapt, burning on the tilted air
Che si cruccia, I heard the devils curse
And shriek with joy in the place beyond prayer.

________________________

Get there early!

Word on the street has it that the Ted Kooser reading tomorrow night (Thursday, 10/25) at UC Davis may be packed; Wyatt Pavillion isn't all that big. The reading is at 6:30 PM. Be there. Early. FREE! and plenty of parking.

Tonight, head up the hill to Placerville from 6-7 PM for the Hidden Passage Poetry Reading, 352 Main St. It's an open-mic read-around, so bring your own poems or those of a favorite poet to share, or just come to listen.

Today would've been John Berryman's 92nd birthday:

HE RESIGNS
—John Berryman

Age, and the deaths, and the ghosts.
Her having gone away
in spirit from me. Hosts
of regrets come & find me empty.

I don't feel this will change.
I don't want any thing
or person, familiar or strange.
I don't think I will sing

any more just now;
ever. I must start
to sit with a blind brow
above an empty heart.

_______________________

SANCTUARY
—John Berryman

An evening faultless interval when
Blood ran crescendo in the brain
And time lay as a poem clear
Falls from me now; a friend is gone
Who taught my anger opaque air,
Is all but lost in time; few things remain.

The insolent look a woman gave
Casually from a door one day
Leaves me not, on the other hand;
Strange stigmata to our grave,
Indiscriminate as the wind,
We carry, with our bones they will decay.

The sky and sea are one in the night,
No eye can make distinction where
Eye is contained, eye subject is
To eyelid, even the pawn of light:
But panthers explain parenthesis
Upon their prey and sate all hunger there.

Certainty shall not touch my tongue.
And yet I hold, I have in mind
That this our love will stay for us:
Instructed by the years, belong
Obdurate and anonymous
A sanctuary eye among the blind.

_______________________

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry, photos and art, 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.)