Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SURFACES AND MASKS; 4, by CLARENCE MAJOR Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: He gave the fascisti salute Subject(s): Columbus, Christopher (1451-1506); Explorers; Fascism & Fascists; Italy; Exploring; Discovery; Discoverers; Italians | ||||||||
He gave the Fascisti salute when he stepped off the Cristoforo Colombo, 1958... there would be, I knew -- if nobody else ever knew -- an endless Sordello; and poor "Eleanor" and all the dream-dreamt Grecian faces I could scare up, the cries in the nightmares, the Acaetes-announcements; everything you can imagine -- least of all, that worn-out, "Hang it all..." and and... worse! One could get hung endlessly up in it all. I said in my attempt to clear my mind, "Goodbye So-shu!" and I was waiting, on my way, not even mindful of night whisperings: "Past we glide!" There were those willing to introduce me to O.R., but she was too old, and therefore the conversation was likely to be not worth the trip, but -- on the other hand, there remained the quest for kissing: "Kiss me as if you entered gay My heart at some noonday." The gondolas always -- repeat always -- cost too much, any year. I was either a guilty traveler from or to "glorious Babylon" or else I was less wise, less concerned with these surface effects. A deep echo of Disraeli, fearful of my plight here...? at sight of cemetery lying there in mist, I drew back, sharing Disraeli's fear. Can you imagine yourself wandering into a late-night bar in Venice wearing a mask -- even at Carnevale time? We bought the papier-mache and covered our faces for fun, gambling on our luck. (The Serenissima, in these days, would not try us for it --) But poor Disraeli! "I fear I have no title," he said, "to admission within these walls, except the privilege of the season." Only in a psychological romance! But then you try to find a way out! Or you wait and listen to Countess Malbrizzi, who asks, "Shall I tell you your name?" and you know damned well if you let her you are going to end up in bed with her, ah, making love, or worse! And once you are with her, close to her, in her arms, you are obliged to not only let her tell you your name, but to let her melt your snow. Mount you? Warm you? As the countess she will tell you she has the power to dream you away, to turn you into a ghost, make you part of the city, fade you. And you will be quick to warn her that you have never had any "sympathy with reality." Then there's Dickens. "So we advanced into the ghostly city," and Dickens had had no idea of what he was talking about! The proof is that he went on: "...a black boat..." one of "mournful colors..." moving silently through the night. (I saw them all day long, mainly -- which proves nothing.) Yet something in you has to go out to that old boy, Dickens! "So we advanced into the ghostly city" -- of death death death! Poor Dickens! Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...1851: A MESSAGE TO DENMARK HILL by RICHARD HOWARD TONIGHT THE HEART-SHAPED LEAVES by JAN HELLER LEVI JEWISH GRAVEYARDS, ITALY by PHILIP LEVINE SAILING HOME FROM RAPALLO by ROBERT LOWELL SUNLIGHT AND SHADOW by LISEL MUELLER HOW DUKE VALENTINE CONTRIVED by BASIL BUNTING FRAGMENTS FROM ITALY: 1 by JOHN CIARDI READ THE SIGNS by CLARENCE MAJOR |
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