Collected Longer Poems of Kenneth Rexroth by Kenneth Rexroth

Author:Kenneth Rexroth [Hinton, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-8112-2257-0
Publisher: New Directions
Published: 2012-08-23T16:00:00+00:00

III

Zoroaster long ago

Said poetry presents us

With apparent pictures of

Unapparent realities.

The sleep which fell on Adam

Was the deep lassitude

Of divine contemplation.

Eve arose, a projection,

From his dreaming heart. Blake

Made a picture of it once.

Diana Marina, my

Favorite on the Italian

Riviera. Quiet, few

People, no foreigners.

We pass through the town and stop at

An albergo on the river.

The terrace overlooks the sea,

And we swim before dinner

In the sunset Mediterranean.

The owner is a fisherman.

He rows away, standing up,

And looking forward, Italian

Style, into pink and blue space.

We are too happy to be hungry.

We eat only pasta and wine,

Grignolino, the first blood

Of the South. As the padrona

Fills out my card, she says, “San

Francesco, eh? Giannin’ è mort’

Oggi,” in a sepulchral voice and

Passes me the Genova paper.

I must admit she moves me. It’s a

Personal tragedy for her.

I walk in the early evening

On the empty spianato

And turn into town. In a

Very San Francisco-like

Café and billiard room I

Have that best of all heavy

Brandies, Vecchia Romagna.

After France, the toilet seems

As clean as a laboratory.

The streets are wide for Italy,

And the houses square and trim,

Like the seventeenth-century

Ones on the Piazza Navona.

The streets are flagged and all they need

Are the crossing blocks to look

Exactly like Pompeii.

Fireflies are dipping and

Wavering in thin clouds of

Sparkle two feet thick over

All the pavements. In the red

Light district, the beautiful

Deep breasted, long legged, regal

Necked Italian whores are

Wading with elegant carriage

Knee deep in glittering fireflies.

Poetry like the unclouded

Crystal and the uncut block,

And the details of the mirage of life,

Presents contemplation

With its instruments. Then isn’t

Contemplation a kind of judgment?

It is all the judgment there is.

The others are paranoia.

As the Philosopher says,

The process of developing

Life complicates but enriches

The world. The process of thought

Simplifies but eviscerates

It. Contemplation is the

Preeminent process of

Developing life; yet it

Follows the form and movement

Of thought. Hence it both unifies

And enriches, and overcomes

The conflicting one and many.

Universalization

Of contemplation is wisdom.

Contemplation is the final

Form of responsibility,

The only truly effective

Mode, and source of all others.

There is no difference between

Love and contemplation as far

As the actual reality

Is concerned. What is taken in

In contemplation is poured out

In love. Love, as a description

Of the process, is the truer

Term because the person

Is more adequately defined.

Genova hot and roaring,

Considerably uglier than

Ashtabula or Gary.

Two coy lions guard the Duomo.

A comprehensive of Magnasco—

“Bad artists dislike painting

Dogs and horses, and prefer

Dragons, demons, and spirits.”

A painter for the American

Fairies. A dock strike, Togliatti

Worrying the government,

Ragged workers and double

Breasted bureaucrats, nobody

Seems to know what it is about.

They do what they are told.

Spaghetti, boiled beef, cold

Fagiolini, black grapes, and

Purple inky wine in the

Ristorante Comunale.

We come in late, so all the

Waitresses and their lingering

Boy friends practice up their English.

Everybody very happy

To discover Americans

Who are not rich. My copy

Of Umanità Nuova

Creates a tremendous sensation.

Genovese art is dull, the most

Impressive things in town are

The old banking houses, one

Of the finest, with immense

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