Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

LETTERS TO YESENIN: 15, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: The soul of water. The most involved play. She wonders if she
Last Line: It's over. But wait.
Alternate Author Name(s): Harrison, Jim
Subject(s): Longing; Relationships; Yesenin, Sergei (1895-1925)


The soul of water. The most involved play. She wonders if she is permitted to
name the stars. Tell her no. This month, May, is said to be "the month of tiny
plant-sucking pests." So even nature is said to war against us though those
pests it seems are only having lunch. So the old woman had named the stars
above her hut and wondered if god had perhaps given them other names that she
didn't know about. Her priest was always combing his hair and shining his
shoes. We were driven from the church, weren't we Sergei? In hearses. But is
this time for joking? Yes. Always. We wonder if our fathers in heaven or hell
watch when we are about our lying and shameful acts. As if they up or down
there weren't sick enough of life without watching for eternity some faulty
version of it, no doubt on a kind of TV. Tune the next hour out dad, I'm going
to be bad. Six lines of coke and a moronic twitch. Please don't watch. I can't
help myself. I provide for my children. They're delighted with the fish I
catch. My wife smiles hourly. She has her horses, dogs, cat, barn, garden. But
in New York twenty layers above the city some cloud or stratum of evil wants to
enter me and I'm certainly willing. Even on ground level in Key West. Look she
has no clothes on and I only wanted to be a friend and maybe talk about art.
Only a lamb. Of course this Little Boy Blue act is tiresome and believed by no
one on earth, heaven or hell. So we've tried to name the stars and think we are
forgiven in advance. Rimbaud turned to black or arab boys remembering when he
was twelve and there was no evil. Only a helpless sensual wonder. Pleasure
gives. And takes. It is dark and hot and the brain is howling with those
senseless drugs. Mosquitoes land upon those fields of sweat, the pool between
her breasts. You want to be home rocking your child in a sunny room. Now that
it's over. But wait.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net