Poem in Progress

Working on a new poem composed of fragments
all involved in one way or another in DEFINING
EROS (long-time obsession), I sent a copy to
my pal David Ferry and he said that the parts he
liked were "the raw bits." That helped to lessen
the thing, it was sprawling all over the place
and pontificating, I took it down by close to half,
sent that version to my pal Dan Gerber and he did
an "if it were mine" version for me, retrieving
some of the stuff from a longer version I'd shown
him earlier.

This offering, then, is a mini case-study.
I'm showing here the post-Dave version, then
the Dan version, then the present state of the
thing, the late July '07 Barry version, oh how sick
you will be of these verses, Faithful Reader, by the
time you fall away to blessed silence beyond the end
of an unforgivably lengthy post!

POST DAVID FERRY VERSION

DEFINING EROS

1.

Desire words of Rilke Catullus Rumi
lift the heavy body toward delicacy
as does the scent before the savoring
of tea.

*

That naked girl in spectacles
reading Borges.

*

May pleasuring prevail
and all dear bodies know full joy!

(Name one of us who'd not be kissed all over).


2.

Shall we whisper the shy secret?
that the lover feels Great Bliss
while feeling what he feels she feels
to feel his hands, his lips.

*

How beautiful we were
with our youth at play,
not even knowing
despite our heat
that we were burning.

3.

In the Golden Age
butterflies mated with humans:

from this our desire for light touches,
our yearning to fly.

*

What is she trying to tell me
with this daily traipsing from room to room
wearing nothing but tiny white socks?

*
The brain, vast sexual organ,
fed by fantasy, images, yes,
ah for centuries
engorged by words.

*

Mummy-wrapped words of Sappho:

may that shining girl
come to me.

*

Luscious
beneath a gauzy blouse and skirt...

unclothed already she would be
the meaning
without its poem

*

Glorious moment
as laughing she observes
how even the thought of her
transforms him.

4.

Seventeen, for a day I had a job
door to door with a book of pictures
supposed to sell refrigerators.

Insane. But one woman let me come in
to sales-talk as she ironed,
room curtained, dim.

She already had a refrigerator.

For years I carried a sense of the musk
in that room,

too young, too much a salesman to see

what she wanted to give away.


DAN GERBER'S RE-WRITE


DEFINING EROS

1.


"Love is a certain
inborn suffering," Andreas Capellanus said.

The beautiful young with their eyes sewn shut
flow by hand, by swirling of hair,
dark honey, like music.

Are these not the saints of Eros?

All praise to the vertical smile.
How else to be born again?

2.

Shall we whisper the shy secret?
that the lover feels Great Bliss
feeling what he feels she feels,
feeling his hands, his lips.

How beautiful
with our youth at play,
not even knowing
despite your heat
we were burning.

3.

In the Golden Age
butterflies mated with humans:
from this
our desire for light touches, from this
our yearning to fly.


What is she trying to tell me
daily traipsing from room to room
in nothing but tiny white socks?

That girl, naked in spectacles,
reading Borges.

The brain, vast sexual organ,
fed by fantasy, images, for centuries
engorged with words.

Mummy-wrapped words of Sappho:

may that shining girl
come to me.

Luscious
beneath her diaphanous dress....

unclothed already she would
be the meaning
without its poem

Glorious moment
as laughing she observes
how even the thought of her
transforms him.

4.

Seventeen,
a job I held for one day,
door to door with a book of photos
attempting to sell refrigerators.

Insane, but one lone woman let me in
to sales-talk as she ironed,
room curtained, dim. And
She already had a refrigerator.

For years
I have carried the sense of the
musk in that room,
too young,
too earnest to see
what she wanted to give away.

PRESENT STATE OF THE POEM:

DEFINING EROS

1.

The young with their eyes sewn shut
flow by hand, by swirling hair,
dark honey of desire...

are these not the saints of Eros?

All praise to the vertical smile --
how else to be born again?

2.

Shall we whisper the shy secret?
that the lover feels Great Bliss
feeling what he feels she feels,
feeling his hands, his lips.

How beautiful
with our youth at play,
not even knowing
despite our heat
that we were burning.

3.

In the Golden Age
butterflies mated with humans:
from this our desire for light touches;
from this our yearning to fly.

*

What is she trying to tell me
daily traipsing from room to room
in nothing but tiny white socks?

*

The brain, vast sexual organ,
fed by fantasy, images, for centuries
engorged with words.

*

That girl, naked, in spectacles,
reading Borges.

*

Mummy-wrapped words of Sappho:

may that shining girl
come to me.

*

Luscious
beneath her diaphanous dress....

unclothed already she would be
the meaning
without its poem.

*

Glorious moment
as laughing she observes
how even the thought of her
transforms him.

4.

Seventeen --
a job I held for one day
door to door with a book of photos
attempting to sell refrigerators.

Insane, but one lone woman let me in
to sales-talk as she ironed,
room curtained, dim.

She already had a refrigerator.

For years
I've carried the sense
of the musk in that room,

too young,
too earnest to see
what she'd wanted to give away.