Oct 2018
THE UNMAKING
Time, that thief
had broken in
to my head
as I slept
and stolen
not a thing
or rather removed
everything and then
put it back again
exactly but not-exactly
in the same place
so that I felt violated
and could not live
in my self again.
It was as if even
my ghost had died
and my ghost's ghost
had arrived
and taken the place
of who I was.
I
no longer
I.
Your death still
un-making me
Time, that thief
had broken in
to my head
as I slept
and stolen
not a thing
or rather removed
everything and then
put it back again
exactly but not-exactly
in the same place
so that I felt violated
and could not live
in my self again.
It was as if even
my ghost had died
and my ghost's ghost
had arrived
and taken the place
of who I was.
I
no longer
I.
Your death still
un-making me
DAPHNAÏDA
V
‘Hencefoorth I hate what ever Nature made,
And in her workmanship no pleasure finde:
For they be all but vaine, and quickly fade, 395
So soone as on them blowes the northern winde;
They tarrie not, but flit and fall away,
Leaving behind them nought but griefe of minde,
And mocking such as thinke they long will stay.
‘I hate the heaven, because it doth withhold 400
Me from my love, and eke my love from me;
I hate the earth, because it is the mold
Of fleshly slime and fraile mortalitie;
I hate the fire, because to nought it flyes,
I hate the ayre, because sighes of it be, 405
I hate the sea, because it teares supplyes.
‘I hate the day, because it lendeth light
To see all things, and not my love to see;
I hate the darknesse and the drery night,
Because they breed sad balefulnesse in mee; 410
I hate all times, because all times doo fly
So fast away, and may not stayed bee,
But as a speedie post that passeth by.
‘I hate to speake, my voyce is spent with crying:
I hate to heare, lowd plaints have duld mine eares: 415
I hate to tast, for food withholds my dying:
I hate to see, mine eyes are dimd with teares:
I hate to smell, no sweet on earth is left:
I hate to feele, my flesh is numbd with feares:
So all my senses from me are bereft. 420
‘I hate all men, and shun all womankinde;
The one, because as I they wretched are,
The other, for because I doo not finde
My love with them, that wont to be their starre:
And life I hate, because it will not last, 425
And death I hate, because it life doth marre,
And all I hate, that is to come or past.
‘So all the world, and all in it I hate,
Because it changeth ever too and fro,
And never standeth in one certaine state, 430
But still unstedfast round about doth goe,
Like a mill wheele, in midst of miserie,
Driven with streames of wretchednesse and woe,
That dying lives, and living still does dye.
‘So doo I live, so doo I daylie die, 435
And pine away in selfe-consuming paine:
Sith she that did my vitall powres supplie,
And feeble spirits in their force maintaine,
Is fetcht fro me, why seeke I to prolong
My wearie daies in dolor and disdaine? 440
Weep, shepheard, weep, to make my undersong.
Edmund Spenser
V
‘Hencefoorth I hate what ever Nature made,
And in her workmanship no pleasure finde:
For they be all but vaine, and quickly fade, 395
So soone as on them blowes the northern winde;
They tarrie not, but flit and fall away,
Leaving behind them nought but griefe of minde,
And mocking such as thinke they long will stay.
‘I hate the heaven, because it doth withhold 400
Me from my love, and eke my love from me;
I hate the earth, because it is the mold
Of fleshly slime and fraile mortalitie;
I hate the fire, because to nought it flyes,
I hate the ayre, because sighes of it be, 405
I hate the sea, because it teares supplyes.
‘I hate the day, because it lendeth light
To see all things, and not my love to see;
I hate the darknesse and the drery night,
Because they breed sad balefulnesse in mee; 410
I hate all times, because all times doo fly
So fast away, and may not stayed bee,
But as a speedie post that passeth by.
‘I hate to speake, my voyce is spent with crying:
I hate to heare, lowd plaints have duld mine eares: 415
I hate to tast, for food withholds my dying:
I hate to see, mine eyes are dimd with teares:
I hate to smell, no sweet on earth is left:
I hate to feele, my flesh is numbd with feares:
So all my senses from me are bereft. 420
‘I hate all men, and shun all womankinde;
The one, because as I they wretched are,
The other, for because I doo not finde
My love with them, that wont to be their starre:
And life I hate, because it will not last, 425
And death I hate, because it life doth marre,
And all I hate, that is to come or past.
‘So all the world, and all in it I hate,
Because it changeth ever too and fro,
And never standeth in one certaine state, 430
But still unstedfast round about doth goe,
Like a mill wheele, in midst of miserie,
Driven with streames of wretchednesse and woe,
That dying lives, and living still does dye.
‘So doo I live, so doo I daylie die, 435
And pine away in selfe-consuming paine:
Sith she that did my vitall powres supplie,
And feeble spirits in their force maintaine,
Is fetcht fro me, why seeke I to prolong
My wearie daies in dolor and disdaine? 440
Weep, shepheard, weep, to make my undersong.
Edmund Spenser
