Two of Ten…

The Mouth

What can the mouth do that nothing else can do?
Birds frolic and sing in the trees.
Snakes hiss in the grass.

If a man’s mouth is not blessed,
he will never learn to sing, he will never
chant in a perfect breeze, in summer,
with someone with whom love is impossible
and, therefore, beautiful and tender.

What can the mouth do? What can it say?
Acrobatic in the afternoons, it grows speechless
and terrible, and doesn’t know its own home:
What shall we say of the mouth?
It travels brightly over the parks,
it dances and frets, it covers
the faces of those we might have loved
on wet, lustful afternoons, it sings
the happy-sad song of the tongue
and why shouldn’t it? Kisses, too,
fly from the mouth. Mine
have flown, eagerly, to you.

What can the mouth do? you ask
Let me tell you: the mouth
can deliver a kiss, the mouth
can learn to say good-bye.
-Michael Blumenthal

One of Ten…

Late last night, I stumbled upon a poetry bulletin board where posters were encouraged to list their top ten favorite poems.  Will, most likely, be hard for me to pick just ten– but here’s my attempt (in no particular order):

Mock Orange
Louise Gluck

It is not the moon, I tell you.
It is these flowers
lighting the yard.

I hate them.
I hate them as I hate sex,
the man’s mouth
sealing my mouth, the man’s
paralyzing body–

and the cry that always escapes,
the low, humiliating
premise of union–

In my mind tonight
I hear the question and pursuing answer
fused in one sound
that mounts and mounts and then
is split into the old selves,
the tired antagonisms. Do you see?
We were made fools of.
And the scent of mock orange
drifts through the window.

How can I rest?
How can I be content
while there is still
that odor in the world?