POEM #1
191
The autumn breeze was light & bright. A small bird
flew in the back door and the beagle got it
(half-beagle) on the second try.
My wife kills fleas and feeds them to the dog,
five last night, plus one Rufus snapped herself.
This is a house of death
and one of Henry's oldest friends was killed,
It came on a friend's radio, this week,
whereat Henry wept.
All those deaths keep Henry pale & ill
and unable to sail through the autumn world & weak,
a disadvantage of surviving.
The leaves fall, lives fall, every little while
you can count with stirring love on a new loss
& an emptier place.
The style is black jade at all seasons, the style
is burning leaves and a shelving of moss
over each planted face.
- JOHN BERRYMAN
The autumn breeze was light & bright. A small bird
flew in the back door and the beagle got it
(half-beagle) on the second try.
My wife kills fleas and feeds them to the dog,
five last night, plus one Rufus snapped herself.
This is a house of death
and one of Henry's oldest friends was killed,
It came on a friend's radio, this week,
whereat Henry wept.
All those deaths keep Henry pale & ill
and unable to sail through the autumn world & weak,
a disadvantage of surviving.
The leaves fall, lives fall, every little while
you can count with stirring love on a new loss
& an emptier place.
The style is black jade at all seasons, the style
is burning leaves and a shelving of moss
over each planted face.
- JOHN BERRYMAN