I always thought I knew lonely,
Like I knew her sinful curves and crushing caress.
But if there is something this year has taught me,
This year of new, and discovery, and sweet sadness,
It's that I never knew lonely.
She and I had merely danced together at a ball,
Or shared a joke at a bar.
Lonely and I were but aquintances,
Passing strangers in the street.

I know now that lonely is like an expectant lover.
She is omnipresent,
She is always there reminding you that they are out there,
While you are in here alone.
Lonely doesn't possess curves,
Nor do her gnarled hand caress,
She is ugly and suffocating,
She is ever-present,
Reminding you,
That they are still out there,
Without you.

It took one look to love her,
two years to tell her,
three tries to ask her
if she'd stay with him forever,
five lies to realize
the mistake that he had made,
six drinks and seven pills
to make her go away.

You think
I love you
a little bit
you tell me

And I freeze,
a small deer in headlights
I am

I think, yes
I'm guilty as charged
And I know I should move
I should say something so I'm not judged wrongly
But I lawyer up, not commenting and plead the 5th instead

Your honor,
Where in the hell
were these words plastered
for you to read oh so well?

I swore
I kept them hidden
in an unpublished manuscript
somewhere...
Unless my eyes
leaked it to the press
Because
they've always been
that one neighborhood snitch
that talks too much
& gives me away
at the very sight of you
every
****
time

You love me
just a little
you say

I can feel
you really
want to know

But I said no,
Perjuring myself
& breaking your resolve

You see my heart
wasn't quite ready then
To be published
front page
& fully available
in stores for purchase.

You ever get that feeling when you're trying to look into snow as it's falling and you just get lost in where it's coming from and where it's going?

That's kinda how I feel when I look at you.

Strawberry lips, capable, voluptuous
Shapely hips, body sumptuous
Vanilla cream skin, soft, inviting
Fingers squeezing, feeling, igniting
Tongue flicking, teeth biting
Blood pumping, flesh writhing
Tangled bodies, spirits, lives
Pleading, teasing, seducing eyes
Limbs reaching, groping, pleasing
Panting faster, shallow breathing
Oh God, don't stop!
Screams, gasps, ecstasy, pop

The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.

Some would be devoted to acting against consciousness,
Like the flight of a moth which, had it known,
Would have tended nevertheless toward the candle's flame.

Others would deal with ways to silence anxiety,
The little whisper which, though it is a warning, is ignored.

I would deal separately with satisfaction and pride,
The time when I was among their adherents
Who strut victoriously, unsuspecting.

But all of them would have one subject, desire,
If only my own -- but no, not at all; alas,
I was driven because I wanted to be like others.
I was afraid of what was wild and indecent in me.

The history of my stupidity will not be written.
For one thing, it's late. And the truth is laborious.


Berkeley, 1980.


Trans. Robert Hass and Robert Pinsky