[For What as Easy]
For what as easy
For what though small,
For what is well
Because between,
To you simply
From me I mean.
Who goes with who
The bedclothes say,
As I and you
Go kissed away,
The data given,
The senses even.
Fate is not late,
Nor the speech rewritten,
Nor one word forgotten,
Said at the start
About heart,
By heart, for heart.
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Musée des Beaux Arts
About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some with their doggy life and the torturer´s horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Brueghel´s Icarus, for instance:how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman way
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
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Our Bias
The hour-glass whispers to the lion´s roar,
The clock-towers tell the gardens day and night,
How many errors Time has patience for,
How wrong they are in being always right.
Yet Time, however loud its chimes or deep,
However fast its falling torrent flows,
Has never put one lion off his leap
Nor shaken the assurance of a rose.
For they, it seems, care only for success:
While we choose words according to their sound
And judge a problem by its awkwardness;
And time with us was always popular.
When have we not preferred some going round
To going straight to where we are?
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