Saturday, October 07, 2006

The happy genius of my household

Danse Russe
by William Carlos Williams

If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,—
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
"I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!"

If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,— Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?

Maybe this one would be in my poetry bible too

Portrait of a Lady

    YOUR thighs are appletrees
    whose blossoms touch the sky.
    Which sky? The sky
    where Watteau hung a lady's
    slipper. Your knees
    are a southern breeze--or
    a gust of snow. Agh! what
    sort of man was Fragonard?
    --as if that answered
    anything. Ah, yes--below
    the knees, since the tune
    drops that way, it is
    one of those white summer days,
    the tall grass of your ankles
    flickers upon the shore--
    Which shore?--
    the sand clings to my lips--
    Which shore?
    Agh, petals maybe. How
    should I know?
    Which shore? Which shore?
    I said petals from an appletree.
    William Carlos Williams

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