Tuesday, May 31, 2011
I said, I don’t like Yeats.
I only like Marti, Neruda, Borge and Paz.
You read this poem to me:
I did the dragon's will until you came
Because I had fancied love a casual
Improvisation, or a settled game
That followed if I let the kerchief fall:
Those deeds were best that gave the minute wings
And heavenly music if they gave it wit;
And then you stood among the dragon-rings.
I mocked, being crazy, but you mastered it
And broke the chain and set my ankles free,
Saint George or else a pagan Perseus;
And now we stare astonished at the sea,
And a miraculous strange bird shrieks at us.
I was scared by the dragon-rings,
and the will which I was doing,
and even by minute wings.
But you opened me,
and gave me my freedom,