JEALOUSY

                   








                    






                    by




               Sappho         

He is a god in my eyes, that man,
Given to sit in front of you
And close to himself sweetly to hear
The sound of you speaking.

Your magical laughter — this I swear —
Batters my heart — my breast astir —
My voice when I see you suddenly near
Refuses to come.

My tongue breaks up and a delicate fire
Runs through my flesh; I see not a thing
With my eyes, and all that I hear
In my ears is a hum.

The sweat runs down, a shuddering takes
Me in every part and pale as the drying
Grasses, then, I think I am near
The moment of dying.

                 trans. Paul Roche

....

.

more to a heap of dirt

      MOUNTAIN                                    

We’ve placed a cross on your shoulder, 

erected a transmission tower,

planted a spindly flag.

We’ve tunneled through you,

necklaced you with roads, paths, 

apartments, mansions clutching 

like pearls at your throat.  

You, who pressed forth

forced by unrelenting magma, 

who rose

earthen breast, back

primordial.

Now the city gathers round,                                         

temples, spires

obeisant to your deep bass voice—

but freeways, office buildings, industrial parks

oblivious. 

We live beside you in tiny flats

watch phantasmal screens,  

eat, recline, 

groom ourselves for the daily backandforth

squirm into leather

for nights in halogen town.

Still—certain hours—you block the sun:

chilled by your encroaching gloom,

we peer from windows, terraces, to see you 

throw off our ropes and stays, to loom.

                                          Brian Campbell

.....

aqua schola

The Heron                      

I am always watching
the single heron at its place
alone at water, its open eye,
one leg lifted 
or wading without seeming to move.

It is a mystery seen
but never touched
until this morning
when I lift it from its side
where it lays breathing.
I know the beak that could attack,
that unwavering golden eye
seeing me, my own saying I am harmless, 
but if I had that eye, nothing would be safe.
The claws hold tight my hand,
its dun-brown feathers, and the gray
so perfectly laid down.

The bird is more beautiful
than my hand, skin more graceful
than my foot, my own dark eye 
so much more vulnerable, 
the heart beating quickly,
its own language speaking,
You could kill me or help me.
I know you and I have no choice
but to give myself up 
and in whatever supremacy of this moment,
hold your human hand
with my bent claws.

                Linda Hogan

.....