Feasts (by Peter Marin)
Posted by: Bill Pearlman
Published on June 8th, 2010 @ 04:38:20 pm , using 194 words
Published on June 8th, 2010 @ 04:38:20 pm , using 194 words
FEASTS
(for Arthur Sherman)
The dead
with their sewn mouths
will not sup with me. They watch,
eyes wide with longing
at each fork raised, with each swallow
of wine, whenever a woman
laughs or bends low
over the table. I call these
"Feasts of Desire" and arrange them
for midnight in the quiet
of the house. Memory
does it, filling the rooms
with a brightness even
the sun cannot equal.
Death shines, and the books, the pages
on the desk, the pencils and pens
glow as did Plato's Forms --
unreachable, unchanging.
At dawn, on their way out,
the dead bow sedately, though some
do a little soft-shoe I think
is the samba, though I
cannot be sure. How easy,
these celebrations! With no cleaning-up
to be done, the pillows in order,
the plates where I put them
still gleaming, the words
I would have spoken
unused in my mind, and the love
I still feel undiminished.
.
--Peter Marin
Permalink2 comments
Comment from: Steven Belasco [Visitor]
Tour de elegance. You had me at "with their sewn mouths" and after I was all in for a wonderful ride. I will not forget this piece. Thank you.
06/13/10 @ 18:06
Comment from: George Stephens [Visitor]
Good notalgic feeling in this, Mr. Marin; we are glad to have your finding a quietus amid the chaos of our times. The poem is a good meditation on late considerations
06/29/10 @ 12:42
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