Of Sundays - The Third Ben Mazer Poem In As Many Weeks
Eyewear is glad to continue the new, and slightly eccentric tradition, of featuring a poem by American poet Ben Mazer on Sundays. I love his exploration of rhyme, mania and poetic excess in this poem, which has a Paterian flavour to its style.
You were insane, and I was sane,
now you are sane, and I'm insane.
I met you first in Gethsemane
when you are gone, and I remain.
The gardens there were lightly flush
at introduction of your blush
the kissing shadows nightly touch
time shadows render from the flesh.
The very bushes seemed to move
with attitudes approaching love
at the last moment to reprove
as if they didn't want enough.
Where earlier entering the town
calm was embedded in reknown
(directly it descends from this
perfect betrayal of a kiss).
The stirring petal on the bush
ignited by the kiss of flesh
the fragrance stirring in the air
shimmering like a distant star
the evidence that you are there
though even now it seems so far.
When you are gone, we meet again
when like a shadow fame and name
are predictably the same.
Men view the son, the desert plain;
when you are gone, we meet again.
poem by Ben Mazer