Ireland

A famous battle happened in this valley.
You never understood the nature poem.
Till now. Till this moment — if these statements
seem separate, unrelated, follow this

Your jewel box of white balsa strips
and bleached green Czechoslovakian rushes
stands open where you keep it shelved
in the bathroom. Morning and evening
I see you comb its seawrack tangle of shell,
stone, wood, glass, metal, bone, seed
for the bracelet, earring, necklace, brooch
or ring you need. Here's brass from Nepal,

Lying is an occupation,
Used by all who mean to rise;
Politicians owe their station,
But to well concerted lies.

These to lovers give assistance,
To ensnare the fair-one's heart;
And the virgin's best resistance
Yields to this commanding art.

Study this superior science,
Would you rise in Church or State;
Bid to Truth a bold defiance,
'Tis the practice of the great.

Nay, Doll, quoth Roger, now you're caught,
I'll never let you go
Till you consent, — To what? says Doll,
Zounds, Doll, why, do'stn't know?
She faintly screamed, and vowed she would
If hurt, cry out aloud;
Ne'er fear, says he, then seized the fair,
She sighed — and sighed — and vowed, —
A'nt I a Man, quoth Roger, ha!
Me you need never doubt,
Now did I hurt you, Doll? quoth he,
Or, pray? says Doll, did I cry out?

When you gain her Affection, take care to preserve it;
Lest others persuade her, you do not deserve it.
Still study to heighten the Joys of her Life;
Not treat her the worse, for her being your Wife.
If in Judgment she errs, set her right, without Pride:
’ Tis the Province of insolent Fools, to deride.
A Husband’ s first Praise, is a Friend and Protector:
Then change not these Titles, for Tyrant and Hector.
Let your Person be neat, unaffectedly clean,
Tho’ alone with your wife the whole Day you remain.

Would you believe it, I got lost again
And all roads led to Rakestreet. Which was which,
The short road or the long? A girl of ten
Behind her counter, drew me a thumbnail sketch

It was there, the elemental center,
All the time. Eternally present, repeating itself
Like seasons, where the times and dates
For swallows and household fires are written down,

As a teenager
she was like any other,
boys, the craic,
smoking down the backs.

Later there was talk
she broke things,
furniture and glass,
her mother’ s heart.

‘Mad at the world,’
the old women nod,
round each other’ s faces.

But it was more
than that
and for less
she was punished.

That weekend
she didn’ t leave a cup alone
every chair hit the wall,
Philomena’ s revenge.

Soon after
she was shifted
and given the shocks.

We had two gardens.

A real flower garden
overhanging the road
(our miniature Babylon).
Paths which I helped
to lay with Aunt Winifred,
riprapped with pebbles;
shards of painted delph;
an old potato boiler;
a blackened metal pot,
now bright with petals.