N.N. and the Night
“I Ran Faster”, which appeared in the original “Apollo,” has been replaced by the following two poems.
Individuation
Full moon mandala
of perfect peace
spinning my life
like a ball of
yarn unwinding.
Nights and new moons
repeat themselves:
the mandala is completed
begins again and
the disappearance
one day becomes my
own being ended.
N.N.
Winter Night, New York
The Winter horizon prisms the setting sun.
Its icicle splinters the color into spectrum
bands that circle the earth like bright wool mufflers
packed ’round a snowman’s head, while the digit
of night slowly pushes back the cuticle
on a polished, manicured moon. The hand
of buildings stretches and opens to the sky
its elegant black glove, torn at the finger tip,
where that sharpened crescent of moon pokes through.
Below the throat of the horizon, the city’s
newly donned jewels begin to gleam,
winking like precious gems and distant suns,
As the Star,
cool and slender-necked Manhattan, commences
to invent her frosty evening face.
N.N.
(The following poem did not appear in the original bound 1985 version of “Apollo.” It has replaced “Upon Reading THE ORIGIN OF CONSCIOUSNESS IN THE BREAKDOWN OF THE BICAMERAL MIND.”)
Intimacy — February 14
I never heard him.
He was stealthy as that
full moon that judged us
from afar with cool
impartial eye, as
he slipped behind me and
requested my money.
I was impressed with
his manners; he spoke
softly like a lover
who merely needed
something I could bestow.
I understood that
he would not take my purse;
I would open it,
I would give him all
he said he wanted.
He’d promised not to hurt me.
Then he fled like the
February wind
that rushed into the
vestibule to fill
the void he’d left with
swift departure.
He disappeared as
magically as he’d come,
a modern Mercury,
messenger from an
underworld I could
not fathom, in black
skin and blue Nike wings.
Later in the line-up
his eyes, blinded by
the one-way mirror,
gazed deeply into mine
as he saw only himself,
not remembering
that date in the lobby
when his same glance and
head averted themselves
to avoid this moment
he surely must have foreseen,
when once again my
own eyes would hold his
shame and know his soul,
not an evil soul,
as though we’d lain naked
together, sharing more than
brief moments in a hallway.
The random act connected us
forever and I knew him
absolutely, knew
just why he did it.
Concatenate seconds
chained him to his victim,
bound him closer
to his humanity
than he’d ever been before.
He’d learned no better way.
And I have gotten verse from him
while he may serve his year.
N.N.
Jan Zwicky: Philosopher, Poet
I gasped as I read your poems
Neatly deployed, a slim Black volume
A stellar expanse of White.
Infinity cannot imagine
A Man leaving such a Woman.
When I met you on that night
Leaning into the wall, tall
As I am tall — No, taller still —
Dressed just in Black, all in Black
Fairer hair than mine pulled starkly back
I gasped again — half awe, half fright —
As if beholding first sight the
Cold and Tender Goddess of the Moon.
How pale seemed my images
Next to your snow like blooms!
In the face of such lunar raiment
I can only guess he left
In fear of being the one bereft.
N.N.
A Charm
On the scrap of tape which
Covetously binds this book,
I found stuck today a
Curling strand of your black pubic hair,
And with this same vital filament
That now minds my verse of love vows,
I cast a magic spell
That binds your love to mine
Until the day you find
This twining amulet
And secrete it from
My Witch possession.
N.N.
Medieval Theme
I cannot prove I love you.
Like the Fundamentalist who
Would deny Darwin’s truth
With his Medieval reasoning,
Since never has he seen
Evolution evolving,
You repudiate my proofs
With tortured “knowledge” intuitive,
Unrefuted Word of God Himself,
That you refuse to put to test.
Since states your hypothesis:
She loves me not (or less)
Can you not create experiments
To test and reach conclusions?
Will you still draw and quarter science?
Or like some Grand Inquisitor
Do you expect survival on your
Rack my love to disprove or
Prove: if she drowns*, she wasn’t a witch;
But is she should live, she is?
Does this confirm the heretic?
N.N.
*Original version says “dies” rather than “drowns.”
More Than Perseus
What could be worse than to know
You can never satisfy the woman you love?
Much better not to see it;
No surprise he hates me today.
And you who now so fill me up
Must wonder not at such vain tremblings
Just because you were brave enough
To look me in the eyes and face me
On your own, needing no shield.
You used no mirror tricks to take me.
Men who can view Medusas
And still live, even love, will forgive
The evasions of those who dare not shatter myths.
N.N.