Photo by Katy Brown, Davis
FIRST SIGHT
—Philip Larkin
Lambs that learn to walk in snow
When their bleating clouds the air
Meet a vast unwelcome, know
Nothing but a sunless glare.
Newly stumbling to and fro
All they find, outside the fold,
Is a wretched width of cold.
As they wait beside the ewe,
Her fleeces wetly caked, there lies
Hidden round them, waiting too,
Earth's immeasurable surprise.
They could not grasp it if they knew,
What so soon will wake and grow
Utterly unlike the snow.
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Tonight:
•••Wednesday (1/24), 6-7 PM: Hidden Passage Books, 352 Main St., Placerville presents an open-mic read-around; bring your own poems or those of a favorite poet to share with other poets and the skeleton in the floor, or just come to listen. We hope to see you there!
•••Also tonight, 10 PM-Midnight: Mics and Moods, Capitol Garage, 1500 K St., Sacramento. Features and open mic. $5; ages 21 and over. Info: 916-492-9336 or malikspeaks.com
Calendar addition for tomorrow night:
•••Thursday evening, Jan. 25, at 7:30 PM, University of the Pacific in Stockton will present David Keplinger, winner of the T.S. Eliot Prize for The Rose Inside and author of The Prayers of Others. Reynolds Art Gallery, UOP Campus on Pacific Avenue.
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IGNORANCE
—Philip Larkin
Strange to know nothing, never to be sure
Of what is true or right or real,
But forced to qualify or so I feel,
Or Well, it does seem so:
Someone must know.
Strange to be ignorant of the way things work:
Their skill at finding what they need,
Their sense of shape, and punctual spread of seed,
And willingness to change;
Yes, it is strange,
Even to wear such knowledge—for our flesh
Surrounds us with its own decisions—
And yet spend all our life on imprecisions,
That when we start to die
Have no idea why.
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ULTIMATUM
—Philip Larkin
But we must build our walls, for what we are
Necessitates it, and we must construct
The ship to navigate behind them, there.
Hopeless to ignore, helpless instruct
For any term of time beyond the years
That warn us of the need for emigration:
Exploded the ancient saying: Life is yours.
For on our island is no railway station,
There are no tickets for the Vale of Peace,
No docks where trading ships and seagulls pass.
Remember stories you read when a boy
—The shipwrecked sailor gaining safety by
His knife, treetrunk, and lianas—for now
You must escape, or perish saying no.
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LOVE
—Philip Larkin
The difficult part of love
Is being selfish enough,
Is having the blind persistence
To upset an existence
Just for your own sake.
What cheek it must take.
And then the unselfish side—
How can you be satisfied,
Putting someone else first
So that you come off worst?
My life is for me.
As well ignore gravity.
Still, vicious or virtuous,
Love suits most of us.
Only the bleeder found
Selfish this wrong way round
Is ever wholly rebuffed,
And he can get stuffed.
_______________________
—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.)
