These are the facts, nothing here but the facts. I was on the road to Damascus via a street in the West Village in New York City, when, in an instant, barometric pressure had dropped 100 MB. Darkness enveloped an eleven-o’clock-morning sun. It may have been a trick of the mind, or some kind of serious panic disorder. Although I could no longer see, I pictured myself a child on a visit to my great grandmother's house in La Salle, Illinois. In my head I felt as though a tornado was approaching...
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RED ROOF INN, Love a Few Miles North of Trenton, New Jersey Darling, darling, girl, Much between us remains unsaid. Remember that first overnight date at the Red Roof Inn? I am in search of this lost time. An impossibly large bed stretched out across the room. Between its feet and a long chest of drawers A narrow aisle traveled the length. It ran from the front door to the rear of the room. And you, there, in your bikini briefs, At the end of the aisle, you were in an alcove, An enclosure directly opposite the bathroom. The area occupied half the suite’s entire width. Your back to me, You stood up against a cantilever table. It was a wall-to-wall vanity with a big mirror. The mirror, you recall, was as long as the table’s surface, And it covered the entire back wall up to the ceiling. Recessed lamps provided light from overhead. You brushed your hair, and With each stroke I witnessed the sinews beneath your skin, Your bones, how your shoulder blades flexed. I rose up from the bed, Took a few steps, And then, still from behind you, I remained behind you, I bent my torso forward at the waist. I was squatting on my haunches, When I extended my arms between your legs.
Each one of my hands was wrapped around one of your ankles. My fingers held you just above your feet; My thumbs pressed upon your Achilles tendons. Head-down, I pulled myself close to you. My left shoulder went to the center, It rested within a spot between your buttocks and legs. The left side of my chin found a niche, It touched the back of your right knee. That was my posture when I had at first embraced you. Once I stood up, Regained at least some sense of composure, I told you that I had never personally encountered a woman, Who looked so much the better naked than clothed. “Wow!” Burst out. And you said, “You sure know how to compliment a girl.” I was dumbfounded. I thought for a moment; I took a moral attitude, yet my tongue was tied. I spoke these words, yet they were only to myself. ‘Woman! Trust my veracity. ‘Do not confuse my honest praise with flattery.’ Then, pretending to further my defense, I more or less recalled the poet’s immortal words, Those lines about truth and beauty being one, And is not response to beauty, truth? I ran the maxim in my mind. I remained speechless. ‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty.’ I dwelled in total awe of you. And when old age our generation shall waste, And time brings world to more and other woes, We have had this moment and its sentiment remains – ‘Darling, that is all,’ I quoted the lines to myself, I had not uttered a word aloud, ‘You know on earth, and all you need to know.’
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RED
ROOF INN, Love
a Few Miles North of Trenton, New Jersey Darling,
darling, girl, Much
between us remains unsaid.
Remember
that first overnight date at the Red Roof Inn?
I
am in search of this lost time.
An
impossibly large bed stretched out across the room. Opposite
from the bed frame’s feet, A
long chest of drawers rested flat against the wall. A
narrow aisle traveled from the suite’s front door Running
between the furniture to the rear of the room.
And
you, there, in your bikini briefs,
At
the end of the aisle, you were in an alcove,
An
enclosure directly opposite the bathroom. The
area occupied half the suite’s entire width.
Your
back to me,
You
stood up against a cantilever table. It
was a wall-to-wall vanity with a big mirror. The
mirror, you recall, was as long as the table’s surface,
And
it covered the entire back wall up to the ceiling.
Recessed
lamps provided light from overhead.
While standing before the table’s edge your face to the mirror You brushed your hair. With each stroke I witnessed the sinews beneath your skin, Your bones, how your shoulder blades flexed.
I
rose up from the bed, Took
a few steps, And
then, still from behind you, I
remained behind you, I
bent my torso forward at the waist. I
was squatting on my haunches, When
I extended my arms between your legs. Each
one of my hands was wrapped around one of your ankles. My
fingers held you just above your feet; My
thumbs pressed upon your Achilles tendons.
Head-down,
I pulled myself close to you. My
left shoulder went to the center,
It
rested within a spot between your buttocks and legs. The
left side of my chin found a niche, It
touched the back of your right knee.
That
was my posture when I had at first embraced you.
Once
I stood up,
Regained
some sense of my equanimity, I
told you that
I
had never personally encountered a woman, Who
looked so much the better naked than clothed.
“Wow!”
Burst out. And you said, “You
sure know how to compliment a girl.”
I
was dumbfounded. I thought for a moment; Then
I took a moral attitude, yet my tongue was tied. Though
I spoke these words, they were only to myself. ‘Woman!
Trust my veracity.
‘Do
not confuse my honest praise with flattery.’
Then,
pretending to further my defense, I
more or less recalled the poet’s immortal words, Those
lines about truth and beauty being one, And
is not response to beauty, truth?
I
ran the maxim in my mind. I remained speechless. ‘Beauty
is truth, truth beauty.’
I
dwelled in total awe of you.
And
when old age our generation shall waste,
And
time brings world to more and other woes, We
have had this moment and its sentiment remains – ‘Darling,
that is all,’ I quoted the lines to myself,
I
had not uttered a word aloud,
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HAD I BEEN BORN PERFECT
Remember
I told you how I handled Gregory? He
was a bad case, eh, What
with his doing 8 bags o' dust at a time, And
then visiting local bars, so sick, Upchucking
right on the patrons' jackets, While
they sat there, all innocent, People
on their stools were having a drink!
I
didn't talk to him for years, Refused
all contact, I was afraid, People
had not realized how great my fear. He
occupied my thoughts night and day.
I
thought he might wind up in jail, Or
dead, or a victim hooked up, Like
some medical experiment, Doctors
without options, practicing Last
resort medicine, wires and tubes, And
a parent witness to nightmare, The
nasty ordeal when intervention Takes
place during hospital emergency.
It's
not death, for death is but a word. It
is the way of it. I feared.
I
called it love, my having nothing, Absolutely
nothing to do with him, Until
he went for help, because he seemed Unable
to help himself, and cease The
shit with which he played.
I
did not know what else to do.
Once
he called me and said, 'Dad,
I've got the monkey off my back!' But
I hung up the receiver, Didn't
let him explain. I
couldn't take it, no more rot!, I
knew he was still in the circus.
And
Billy, a surrogate son, You
know the story, I … I treated him the same, The
same cold shoulder, not talking to him Months
on end, until he realized our friendship Depended
on his treating his own two boys, Like
a proper father. I wanted him to put His
children first in life, and I meant it.
Forget
about my smile and easy charm, It's
never smart to test my resolve.
2.
But,
darling, when it comes to dealing with you, I
find no form of human love prevails. No
mere earthly style or mode of affection works!
Oh,
the poetry! Look
to the poetry I write for you. My
heart wells up, the warmest regard, Right
up to the breaking point, In
poem after poem I tried to portray How
great, how utter the abandon, I
declared, were fate to bring us to a terrible juncture, A
crossroad where all choice reduces To
either my life, or yours,
Gladly
would I give up mine, I would die for you.
To
proclaim the veracity of your physical beauty I
wrote, RED ROOF INN.
I
spent a year and wrote, NOW VOYAGER for you.
The
time, when in Brooklyn I found you, That
early, that rainy morning, I
knew you were treasure. You,
the reason, I wrote, SERENDIPITY!
And
that I might attest to your strength of character, Express
my fondest feelings for you, I
wrote, then, over and again, I rewrote, DREAM
CHILDREN, verse which pictured you In
future time the mother of our two children.
How
tender and constant the thoughts! You on my mind Beseeching
you, and ever so softly, so gently I
sought to play upon the strings of your heart.
And
the letters, they are all love letters, And
we have a pile of them.
When
in this correspondence, I said it wrong, Overstepped
the line, wanted propriety, And
for those errors in judgment and phrase, The
anger, when I fell, put my own bruised feelings Before
yours, did not consider your own hurt first, And
failed to acknowledge the great gift, Your
being in my life that day.
I
implore you please forgive.
Whenever
I lacked intellectual power, Whatever
defect of moral character foiled me from Exercising
both the restraint of my tongue And
the rush of my fingers upon the keyboard, Where
had been my even basic sense of compassion? Still
it was you -- your well being foremost in my life. My
intent was proper, though my behavior poor, My
expression amiss, my communications hasty, And
ultimately for my behaviors there are no excuses, However
I had meant the best for you.
Yet
today as well as it had been then, I
wish you forever well.
Still
I doubt all my love allows you any easier a sleep. I
wonder what technique, What
kind of human love might lessen The
pain, the disorder troubling you, And
calm the upset, which at end has us delivered To
this grisly end, the final stages of our romance?
Here
I pray to God.
I
fall to my knees -- such the will to believe -- Ask
that Munificence be granted, The
Almighty do, on earth, All
those things that I had failed to do for you. God's
will be done.
3.
Had
I been born perfect.
How
I now regret, when as a child, I
wasted time playing with crystal sets, And
in the basement of my parents' home, Spent
hours profligately upon Imaginary
laboratory tables with chemistry, Meaningless
experiments with liquids and powders.
Had
I been born a man wise enough, The
kind of guy who might do you real good, I
would have had you in mind right from the start, I
would have abandoned my attempts at writing. I
would have turned about, Learned
the illusionist’s trade, And
trained until I possessed every trick in the book.
Then
I could live within the mirror, Work
the conjurer's art so that when you went to look, When
you fixed a gaze upon your own mirror image, Instead
of you, the reflection staring back, My
picture of you, the way I see you, The
enchantment, my awe, which is you, Whenever
you stand before me, The
image of you so bountiful and pure, You,
the brilliance at center of my sight.
Had
I been able to practice real magic.
There
would be light, love, and just approval, And
it would be my voice ringing through The
reflecting glass, no more whisper of doubt, My
wizardly spell, the timbre of my incantations,
Banishing
any word of fear and sadness, an end to frailty, Now
instead in your head the lyrics to hymns of all courage.
I
would rid the mirror's display of fault and distortion. We
would come to see a world without poverty, And
know only hugs, freedom and peace.
Were
that the case, Had
fate conspired to have me born A
man capable of grand devotion, The
kind of guy who might do you real good, I
would have abandoned my attempts at writing, Wasted
no time upon fruitless experiments I
would have turned about, set myself on right course, Learned
the illusionist’s trade, And
trained until I possessed every trick in the book. Then
I could live within the mirror, I
could dispel all bad images from from its surface, Let
you see how great your love's delight.
