John Berryman(1914–1972)

Homage to Mistress Bradstreet

The winters close, Springs open, no child stirs

under my withering heart, O seasoned heart

God grudged his aid.

All things else soil like a shirt.

Simon is much away. My executive2 stales.

The town came through for the cartway by the pales,3

but my patience is short.

I revolt from, I am like, these savage foresters

whose passionless dicker in the shade, whose glance

impassive & scant, belie their murderous cries

when quarry seems to show.

Again I must have been wrong, twice.4

Unwell in a new way. Can that begin

God brandishes. O love, O I love. Kin,

gather. My world is strange

and merciful, ingrown months, blessing a swelling trance.

[19]

So squeezed, wince you I scream I love you & hate

off with you. Ages! Useless. Below my waist

he has me in Hell's vise.

Stalling. He let go. Come back: brace

me somewhere. No. No. Yes! everything down

hardens I press with horrible joy down

my back cracks like a wrist

shame I am voiding oh behind it is too late

[20]

hide me forever I work thrust I must free

now I all muscles & bones concentrate

what is living from dying

Simon I must leave you so untidy

Monster you are killing me Be sure

I'll have you later W o m e n do endure

I can can no longer

and it passes the wretched trap whelming and I am me

[21]

drencht & powerful, I did it with my body!

One proud tug greens Heaven. Marvellous,

unforbidding Majesty.

Swell, imperious bells. I fly.

Mountainous, woman not breaks and will bend:

sways God nearby: anguish comes to an end.

Blossomed Sarah,5 and I

blossom. Is that thing alive I hear a famisht howl.

1948-531956