The Meeting

 душа вэд жэншина,–– ей  нравятcя бэздэлки

The soul is a woman they say so you go

On cold early stones to the meeting

The soul is a woman they say so you wade

Plunging your feet in the fast stream

And Cupid said,

“Wear this blindfold round thy head.”

Pale as if all dreams were dead,

Psyche sighed and Psyche said,

“Love looks but with the mind:

Tis you, love, who are pictured blind.”

And rising up from their love bed,

Cupid sighed and Cupid said,

“Away from thine arms I fly,

And bid thee a last good-bye.”

The soul is a woman they say so you go

On cold early stones to the meeting

The soul is a woman they say so you wade

Plunging your feet in the fast stream

And Passion said,

“Our souls be beat to airy thinness.”

Pale he looked as the dead,

“Aire soy–“ he said: “Be my witness.”

And Hunger replied,

“Gold our souls. Golden they be.”

Glowing like a bride,

Hunger sighed as words she tried,

“Gold of you and gold of me.”

And Passion spoke again,

“I am air.

I fly. I float. I disappear.

Come be my airy twin.”

But Hunger her Passion did deny.

And Hunger, whetted, made sharp reply–

(Keen as she was to hide

Her hunger and her hunger’s pride):

“Our two souls henceforth, which were one

Must now divide, must seek rebirth,

You in the skies, me on the Earth.”

The soul is a woman they say so you go

On cold early stones to the meeting

The soul is a woman they say so you wade

Plunging your feet in the fast stream

Between dead water and kinetic shore

Between stone sleep and a-waking–

Firm intentions,

Apprehensions,

Hesitations,

Intimations.

Immortality:

Irreality?

Quick impressions,

Pressing questions:

When shall the bells toll?

When shall the drums roll?

Who shall drain the bitter cup?

Who shall bear the bitter tidings?

When will the body’s Time be up?

Where will the soul be abiding?

And how shall we be made whole

For the sake of the large sweet soul,

And who shall make us whole again,

And who shall take away our pain?

How then shall we greet the dawn

For the sake of the

Large sweet soul that has gone?

Old Man River

In a young man’s

Soaring heart,

I call on you to

Do your part:

Roll, Jordon, roll

For the large sweet soul;

Carry downriver,

And deliver

Old songs, old glories,

History’s told and untold stories,

From the past, surging voices

Singing of Heaven and hope:

Future’s barge tied up

With a twisted rope;

Carry downriver,

Deliver

Songs and chants,

A nation’s romance,

History’s voices,

Tides and choices;

Deliver

Deliver

Recollections,

Benedictions.

Old Man River

You just keep rolling.

You must keep rolling,

Sinewy giver.

Roll along

Beside me,

Follow me

And chide me.

By your watery path

Abide me.

And guide me

Through tears of wrath,

Through this landscape

Of sorrow.

Then let us bid

Good morrow 

To our waking souls:

River god–

Life-bestowing

Ever-flowing

Source,   

Help me

Run this course,

Outpacing

Remorse;

Help me

Deck my song

For the one who is gone.

Help me deck my song

Like a festive hall

For one who is gone,

For one who gave all:

Sinewy giver

To the common lot;

From the common

Worlds apart;

Life’s short game–

Luck-churning

Fortune-whirling

Wind-beaten waves

Cascade,

Upsetting your raft.

Fame and flame–

Eternal-burning

Fate-pacing

Time-racing:

A monument engraved,

A movement saved:

Destiny’s statecraft.

  

How shall we pledge

To perform our role

For the large, sweet soul–

How shall we vow–

How shall we, now–

With purged,

With pure emotion,

Put into motion

A great notion?

How make institutions

Of our nation’s evolution?

How make bloodless revolution

Of our bloodlines’ devotion?

How forge a more perfect union

Anon

For the sake of the

Large sweet soul

That has gone?

The soul is a woman they say so you go

On cold early stones to the meeting

The soul is a woman they say so you wade

Plunging your feet in the fast stream

Between dead water and kinetic shore,

Between stone sleep and a-waking:

Not She, but her arrow stream

Tearing soles

Not She, but her liquid flame

Pacing souls

And he said,

“Can you give me

A light?”

And she took out her lighter

And snapped out a flame.

And he bent his head

In the dark of the night,

That she had made brighter

By playing his game.

And he said,

“Watch me now:

Exhaling my breath,

My very soul,

In rings of smoke

Smoked out by

Succeeding rings;

Bear witness to

The soul summed up,

Like some cigar,

Sagely burning

Till the ash divides

From its luminous

Kiss of fire.

So she watched him

Exhale his breath,

Like very death,

His soul spiraling out

In wispy rings

In a quiet room,

By other rings

Be-ringed,

Subsumed.

She witnessed how

He summed up his soul

Like some cigar

With the cigarette he rolled.

She watched the falling ash,

The cinders, expire:

Fantasy of wisdom,

Dream of desire,

Sage contemplation,

Sweet kiss of fire

And when the flame

Was out and gone

She left the room,

She made for home.                      

On her way she came to a stream.

There she rested. There she dreamed.

The soul is a woman they say so you go

On cold early stones to the meeting

The soul is a woman they say so you wade

Plunging your feet in the fast stream

Between dead water and kinetic shore,

Between stone sleep and a-waking:

Not She, but her arrow stream

Tearing soles

Not She, but her liquid flame

Pacing souls

Through you breaks a wash of color

But you are not color itself:

Not color but the washing through,

The swirling eye

The streaming banner at your

Staggered feet