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Poem ("You, my photographer...")
TWO POEMS
POEM
You, my photographer, you, most aware,
Who climbed to the bridge when the iceberg struck,
Climbed with your camera when the ship's hull broke,
And lighted your flashes and, standing passionate there,
Wound the camera in the sudden burst's flare,
Shot the screaming women, and turned and took
Pictures of the iceberg (as the ship's deck shook)
Dreaming like the moon in the night's black air!
You, tiptoe on the rail to film a child!
The nude old woman swimming in the sea
Looked up from the dark water to watch you there;
Below, near the ballroom where the band still toiled,
The frightened, in their lifebelts, watched you bitterly -
You hypocrite! My brother! We are a pair!
POEM
Old man in the crystal morning after snow,
Your throat swathed in a muffler, your bent
Figure building the snow man which is meant
For the grandchild's target,
do you know
This fat cartoon, his eyes pocked in with coal
Nears you each time your breath smokes the air,
Lewdly grinning out of a private nightmare?
He is the white cold shadow of your soul.
You build his comic head, you place his comic hat;
Old age is not so serious, and I
By the window sad and watchful as a cat,
Build too this poem of old age and of snow,
And weep: you are my snow man and I know
I near you, you near him, all of us must die.
Delmore Schwartz
ABOUT GESTURES
A gesture is a learning,
It cannot be mistaken;
It is also an unlearning,
Part of a dance, say.
You cannot mistake a gesture.
It is not a beginning,
It is not an ending.
There is no mistake if nothing follows.
Between two gestures lies history.
Sydney Salt