Poems 1-37

Homage to Mistress Bradstreet (1956)

1The Governor your husband lived so longmoved you not, restless, waiting for him? Still,you were a patient woman -I seem to see you pause here still:Sylvester, Quarles, in moments odd you poredbefore a fire at, bright eyes on the Lord,all the children still.”Simon…” Simon  will listen while you read a Song.

2Outside the New World winters in grand darkwhite air lashing high thro’ the virgin standsfoxes down foxholes sigh,surely the English heart quails, stunned.I doubt if Simon than this blast, that sea,spares from his rigour for your poetrymore. We are on each other’s handswho care. Both of our worlds unhanded us. Lie stark,

3thy eyes look to me mild. Out of maize & airyour body’s made, and moves. I summon, see,from the centuries it.I think you won’t stay. How do welinger, diminished, in our lover’s air,implausibly, visible, to whom, a year,years, over interims; or not;to a long stranger; or not; shimmer and disappear.

4Jaw-ript, rot with its wisdom, rending then;Then not. When the mouth dies, who misses you?Your master never died,Simon at thirty years past you -pockmarkt & westward staring on a haggard deckit seems I find you, young. I come to check,I come to stay with you,and the Governor, & Father, & Simon, & the huddled men.

[…]

35-    I cannot feel myself God waits. He fliesnearer a kindly world; or he is flown.One Saturday’s rescuewon’t show. Man is entirely alonemay be. I am a man of griefs & fitstrying to be my friend. And the brown smock splits,down the pale flesh a gashbroadens and Time holds up your heart against my eyes.

36- Hard and divided heaven! creases me. Shameis failing. My breath is scented, and I throwhostile glances towards God.Crumpling plunge of a pestle, bray:sin cross & opposite, wherein I survivenightmares of Eden. Reaches foul & livehe for me, this soulto crunch, a minute tangle of eternal flame.

37I fear Hell’s hammer-wind. But fear does wane.Death’s blossoms grain my hair; I cannot live.A black joy clashesjoy, in twilight. The Devil said”I will deal toward her softly, and her enchanting crieswill fool the horns of Adam.” Father of lies,a male great pestle smashes   small women swarming towards the mortar’s rim in vain.

Homage to Mistress Bradstreet (1956)