seven poems for marthe, my wife by Kenneth Rexroth - I

I

In my childhood when I first

Saw myself unfolded in

The triple mirrors, in my

Youth, when I pursued myself

Wandering on wandering

Night bound roads like a roving

Masterless dog, when I met

Myself on sharp peaks of ice,

And tasted myself dissolved

In the lulling heavy sea,

In the talking night, in the

Spiraling stars, what did I

Know? What do I know now,

Of myself, of the others? 

Blood flows out to the fleeing

Nebulae, and flows back, red

With all the worn space of space,

Old with all the time of time.

It is my blood. I cannot

Taste in it as it leaves me

More of myself than on its

Return. I can see into it

Trees of silence and fire.

In the mirrors of its waves 

I can see faces. Mostly

They are your face. On its streams

I can see the leaf shadows

Of the plane trees on the deep

Fluids of your eyes, android the

Golden fires and lamps of years.

II

marthe away

All night I lay awake beside you,

Leaning on my elbow, watching your

Sleeping face, that face whose purity

Never ceases to astonish me.

I could not sleep. But I did not want 

Sleep or miss it. Against my body,

Your body lay like a warm soft star.

How many nights I have waked and watched 

You, in how many places. Who knows?

This night might be the last one of all.

As on so many nights, once more I

Drank from your sleeping flesh the deep still 

Communion I am not always strong

Enough to take from you waking, the peace of love.

Foggy lights moved over the ceiling

Of our room, so like the rooms of France

And Italy, rooms of honeymoon, 

And gave your face an ever changing

Speech, the secret communication

Of untellable love. I knew then, 

As your secret spoke, my secret self,

The blind bird, hardly visible in

An endless web of lies. And I knew

The web too, its every knot and strand,

The hidden crippled bird, the terrible web.

Towards the end of the night, as trucks rumbled

In the streets, you stirred, cuddled to me,

And spoke my name. Your voice was the voice 

Of a girl who had never known loss

Of love, betrayal, mistrust, or lie.

And later you turned again and clutched

My hand and pressed it to your body.

Now I know surely and forever,

However much I have blotted our

Waking love, its memory is still

There. And I know the web, the net,

The blind and crippled bird. For one heart beat the

Heart was free and moved itself. O love,

I who am lost and damned with words,

Whose words are a business and an art, 

I have no words. These words, this poem, this

Is all confusion and ignorance.

But I know that coached by your sweet heart,

My heart beat one free beat and sent

Through all my flesh the blood of truth.

III

Marthe Lonely

To think of you surcharged with

Loneliness. To hear your voice

Over the recorder say,

"Loneliness" The word, the voice,

So full of it, and I, with

You away, so lost in it-

Lost in loneliness and pain,

Black and unendurable,

Thinking of you with every

Corpuscle of my flesh, in

Every instant of night

And day. O, my love, the times

We have forgotten love, and

Sat lonely beside each other.

We have eaten together,

Lonely behind our plates, we

Have hidden behind children,

We have slept together in

A lonely bed. Now my heart

Turns toward you, awake at last,

Penitent, lost to the last

Loneliness. Speak to me. Talk

To me. Break the black silence.

Speak of a tree full of leaves,

Of a flying bird, the new

Moon in the sunset, a poem,

A book, a person-all the

Casual healing speech

Of your resonant, quiet voice. 

The word freedom. The word peace.

IV

Quietly

Lying here quietly beside you,

My cheek against your firm, quiet thighs,

The calm music of Boccherini

Washing over us in the quiet,

As the sun leaves the housetops and goes

Out over the Pacific, quiet-

So quiet the sun moves beyond us,

So quiet as the sun always goes,

So quiet, our bodies, worn with the

Times and the penance  of love, our

Brains curled, quiet in their shells, dormant,

Our hearts slow, quiet, reliable

In their interlocked rhythms, the pulse

In your thigh caressing my cheek. Quiet.

V

A Dialogue of Watching

Let me celebrate you. I

Have never known anyone

More beautiful than you. I,

Walking beside you, watching

You move beside me, watching

That still grace of your hand and thigh,

Watching your face change with words

You do not say, watching your

Solemn eyes as they turn to me,

Or turn inward, fully of knowing,

Slow or quick, watching your full 

Lips part and smile or turn grave,

Watching your narrow waist, your

Proud buttocks in their grace, like

A sailing swan, an animal,

Free, your own, and never

To be subjugated, but

Abandoned, as I am to you,

Overhearing your perfect

Speech of motion, of love and

Trust and security as

You feed or play with our children.

I have never known any

One more beautiful than you.

VI

Marthe Growing

Who are you? Who am I? Haunted

By the dead, by the dead and the past and the

Falling inertia of unreal, dead

Men and things. Haunted by the threat

Of the impersonal, that which

Never will admit the person,

The close world of things. Who are

You? Coming up,out of the

Mineral earth, one pale leaf

Unlike any other unfolding, 

And then another, strange, new,

Utterly different, nothing

I ever expected, growing

Up out of my warm heart's blood.

All new, all strange, all different.

Your own leaf pattern, your own

Flower and fruit, but fed from

One root, the root of our fused flesh.

I and thou, from the one to

The dual, from the dual

To the other, the wonderful

Unending, unfathomable

Process of becoming each 

Our selves for each other.

VII

The Old Song and Dance

You, because you love me, hold
Fast to me, caress me, be
Quiet and kind comfort me
With stillness, say nothing at all.
You, because I love you, o
Am strong for you, I uphold
You. The water is alive
Around us. Living water
Runs in the cut earth between
Us. You, my bride, your voice speaks
Over the water to me.
Your hands, your solemn arms,
Cross the water and hold me.
Your body is beautiful.
It speaks across the water.
Bride, sweeter than honey, glad
Of heart, our hearts beat across
The bridge of our arms. Our speech
Is speech of joy in the night
Of gladness. Our words live.
Our words are children dancing
Forth from us like stars on water.
My bride, my well beloved,
Sweeter than honey, than ripe fruit,
Solemn, grave, a flying bird,
Hold me. Be quiet and kind.
I love you. Be good to me.
I am strong for you. I uphold
You. The dawn of ten thousand
Dawns is afire in the sky.
The water flows in the earth.
The children laugh in the air.