posted on March 03, 2003 @ 2:56 am
"come around," rhett miller
"little star," stina nordenstam
(appropriately enough)
mrs. lancaster gave us this poem when i was a sophomore in high school, and it touched on something very deep. i didn't even want to figure it out; the words were enough and too much at the same time. i've been looking at it the past few minutes, trying to rape it respectfully, but only because i care.
"Effort at Speech Between Two People"
Murial Rukeyser
Speak to me. Take my hand. What are you now?
I will tell you all. I will conceal nothing.
When I was three, a little child read a story about a rabbit
who died, in the story, and I crawled under a chair;
a pink rabbit: it was my birthday, and a candle
burnt a sore spot on my finger, and I was told to be happy.
Oh, grow to know me. I am not happy. I will be open.
Now I am thinking of white sails against a sky like music,
like glad horns blowing, and birds tilting, and an arm about me.
There was one I loved, who wanted to live, sailing.
Speak to me. Take my hand. What are you now?
When I was nine, I was fruitily sentimental,
fluid: and my widowed aunt played Chopin,
and I bent my head on the painted wookwork, and wept.
I want now to be close to you. I would
link the minutes of my days close, somehow, to your days.
I am not happy. I will be open.
I have liked lamps in evening corners, and quiet poems.
There has been fear in my life. Sometimes I speculate
On what a tragedy his life was, really.
Take my hand. Fist my mind in your hand. What are you now?
When I was fourteen, I had dreams of suicide,
and I stood at a steep window, at sunset, hoping toward death:
if the light had not melted the clouds and plains to beauty,
if light had not transformed that day, I would have leapt,
I am unhappy. I am lonely. Speak to me.
I will be open. I think he never loved me:
he loved the bright beaches, the little lips of foam
that ride small waves, he loved the veer of gulls:
he said with a gay mouth: I love you. Grow to know me.
What are you now? If we could touch one another,
if these our separate entities could come to grips,
clenched like a Chinese puzzle...yesterday
I stood in a crowded street that was live with people,
and no one spoke a word, and the morning shone.
Everyone silent, moving...Take my hand. Speak to me.
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