Whitman

AFTER we've had

our age of gold

and sung our song of brass,

fingers will brush

the age aside,

fingers and leaves

of grass.

Alfred Kreymborg

Overheard In An Asylum

AND here we have another case

quite different from the last,

another case quite different --

Listen.

Baby, drink.

The war is over.

Mother's breasts

are round with milk.

Baby, rest.

The war is over.

Only pigs

slop over so.

Baby, sleep.

The war is over.

Daddy's come

with a German coin.

Baby, dream.

The war is over.

You'll be a soldier

too.

Yes, we gave her the doll --

Now there we have another case

quite different from --

Alfred Kreymborg

Geometry

NEVER a mouse

chases ever a tail,

never a mouse ever sees

that always a cat

catches always a mouse,

cats being kittens

who once chased their tails.

Toss a pebble into a stream,

never a circle catches a circle;

shoot a dawn-ball

into the sky,

never a moonbeam

catches a sun;

drop the same thought

on the floor:

Only a kitten catches a tail,

the tail being straight,

the kitten a circle.

Yet never a mouse

chases ever a tail,

never a mouse ever sees

that always some death

catches always his mouse,

deaths being kittens

who once chased their tails.

Alfred Kreymborg

Introducing Dorothy

1. Mender

ARE there any

   as tender

   as the day

   with the night

   in its arms

   or the night

   with the day?

If there is

   will you send her?

2. Her Eyes

Her eyes hold black whips --

   dart of a whip

   lashing, nay, flicking,

   nay, merely caressing

   the hide of a heart,

and a broncho tears through canyons --

   walls reverberating,

   sluggish streams

   shaken to rapids and torrents,

   storm destroying

   silence and solitude!

Her eyes throw black lariats,

   one for his head,

   one for his heels,

and the beast lies vanquished --

   walls all still,

   streams all still,

   except for a tarn,

   or is it a pool,

   or is it a whirlpool

   twitching with memory?

3. Her Hair

Her hair is a tent

   held down by two pegs --

   ears, very likely --

where two gipsies --

   eyes, dull folk call them --

read your soul away:

one promising something,

   the other stealing it.

If the pegs would let go

   and the tent blow away, drop away,

like a wig or a nest --

   maybe

you'd escape

paying coin

to gipsies --

   maybe --

4. Her Hands

Blue veins

   of morning glories

blue veins

   of clouds

bring deep-toned silence

   after a storm.

White horns

   of morning glories

white flutes

   of clouds --

sextettes hold silence and

   cup it for aye.

Could I

   blow morning glories

could I

   lip clouds

I'd sound the silence

   her hands bring to me.

Had I

   the yester sun

had I

   the morrow's --

brush them like cymbals,

   I'd then sound the noise.

5. Her Body

Her body gleams

like an altar candle

white in the dark,

and modulates

to voluptuous bronze,

bronze of a sea

under the flame.

6. Others

There is too

the love of her

through others'

love of her.

There is too

the love of her

through others'

love of her

love of me.

There is even

the love of her

though others'

love of her

be only

love of my

love of her.

7. Three

I and my

lovely lady

sit down

where we can see each other

and chat about

the lovely lady

I and my

lovely lady

love.

8. Ilusions

This tree,

whose top flirted with the sky,

whose branches dared the uttermost east and west,

whose roots penetrated China,

whose leaves were elves --

My companion is gone,

is less than a shrub.

9. Image

Showing her immortal --

it's mine to do

but I can't.

Shaping her as she is,

a thing to

turn a glance

to an eternity --

it's there,

I can see it

but I can't say it.

If one could transcribe

some infinitesimal phase

of the trillion-starred endowment

which comes tumbling

out of simply trying to look at her,

or out of catching a glance,

slyly pointed,

trying to look at me,

stirring a trillion-starred emotion

vibrating like a bell

across endless tides of endless seas --

I'd do it

but I can't.

I love her so much

I can't do anything else.

Alfred Kreymborg