Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MOTHER, by PAUL GERALDY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MOTHER, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Yes? What! It's you! And you love him more than yourself
Last Line: Are my poor kisses he has not returned.
Subject(s): Children; Mothers; Childhood


Yes? What! It's you! And you love him more than yourself,
Little one who think you've taken my heart's pride!
He speaks to you in kisses. He says he loves you. ...
Look into my eyes and you'll see he lied.

So it's you! ... Come here. ... You have a charming dress.
You have deep eyes. ... I've been given a good picture of you.
You seem to be quite young to be in love. ...
And he's given you his whole life. ... Is it true?

His whole life? You? And is it possible,
Just passing by one evening, that you could
Take from me this heart that's a part of my own more responsive?
Ah, little one, little one, have you understood?

His heart is my own, mine starting over again!
That is my past you see in his eyes' glow.
And in my glances all his childhood lingers.
He did me so much harm. And I have nursed him so!

But stifling at the breast that nestles them,
Children feel the call of the fresh air, and the sun's charms.
He loved to play. ... And soon he left my bosom
And little by little slipped from my open arms.

And when, in his turn alone, but strong and tender,
He came to me and sought my kiss awhile,
It was too late. ... I no longer could understand him. ...
He saw my shadowed eyes, and my worn smile. ...

He saw me preoccupied, worried over trifles.
My more precise movements were not so sweet to view.
He felt me farther from him, and nearer outside objects. ...
Then one evening, little one, he went toward you!

What matter? Love him! Take him! Be beautiful!
The love he gives you arises from my embers.
If his flesh moves towards you, it's because it recalls.
He has need of your heart because he remembers.

The arms he holds out to you, empty of my embracing,
Seek a Paradise where he once sojourned;
And the ardent kisses he lavishes on his sweetheart
Are my poor kisses he has not returned.





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