A Poem in Prose for my Venus
Were you conscious last night
Of the grandeur of the moon?
Did you know that she was a pound of honey?
You, oh pound of honey for all the couples
Crouched together everywhere in the world.
The men on their backs their phalluses
in huge erection.
The women, their vaginas sighing
and flashing.
All making love like
animals of hell.
All bridled by the desire--
the incredibly fruitful desire.
The air was pierced by the bizarre sounds--
the groaning of elephants, the "whinneying" of horses and the
bleating of
calves.
It would be deplorable if everything was
not commanded by the God Priapus.
His stamp was visible here and there--
briefly, everywhere.
He reigned over the night like an
emperor...Sometimes it was terrible.
But little by little one heard the Chopinesque music, the
nostalgia,
the sobs, the cries of the camels--everything
was very beautiful.
Chopin and Ravel--and also Debussy!
Oh what divine music!
Played by an angel with the refinement
of a prince.
Suddenly a resurrection.
The obscured couples rise and
begin to sing.
Their voices reach the edge of the sky.
Even the dead are revived, delirious
Now the birds can also
be heard.
"Hark hark the lark at Heaven's gate sings...et tra la la."
Yes the dead and the angels understand
English--how odd it is.
The gods and the half-gods speak
Hungarian and Polish
But only amongst themselves!
The dawn arrives...everything becomes
silent. The world breathes.
The angels disappear into the
images of Fra Angelico.
Da Vinci sleeps. Botticelli opens his eyes.
The world begins under a
Pale blue sky. Rather bluish.
Until we see each other again.
-- Henry Miller