Narcissus
October 31st, 2009 at 13:21i’m falling in love with her
hopelessly smitten
and strangely driven
to stop and stare and wonder
how have i been before?
and why do i want more and more?
each into the other, this
plainly forbidden
fruit that has given
form to what was private bliss
upon reflection i find
i’m losing myself and my mind
can I woo her through the looking glass
this refraction of light i see?
in the pool face to face we match
like ghosts, like family,
like angels
translucent and
in-between
i’m falling in love with her
brazenly object
willingly subject
as sunlight through the moon
like a soliloquy or two
forever as one, me and you
(Patricia Barber, Narcissus, from the album Mythologies)
I’m sensing your resistance, reader.
Don’t set me straight.
I dream. I sing. I woo. I’m not you.
You don’t believe me. You want to be faithful to the story, consider me a rhetorical effect. You say my lover is myself, you who knows nothing of the other.
Evasion, perversion, death. “In all the pride of blooming youth I die,” — that’s how the story ends in your book — not in mine. I believe in revision & inversion. Your ending is my beginning.
Listen.
It’s cold. I’m alone. But, mind you, not defenseless. I’ve learned to parry blows, even invisible ones, speaking a language that is not mine. How to utter my complaint? You say, you’re tolerant. (Oh, how I hate that word.) I say, I’m not a patient and anyway my wounds are nothing to you. Whom should I court? Nowhere left to turn but myself, I kindle up the fires by which I burn. All that is lovely in myself I love. If I don’t admire myself, will you? How gladly “would I from myself remove and at a distance set the one I love.” But will you let me? Your tolerance scares me. And your impatience, too.
Imagine.
The pool, the fountain, the looking glass. My refuge, my temple, my inspiration. And let it be fantastick! A shadow, a fleeting shade; shifting shapes in a pool of light, silver-clear and bright, an art like no other, a thing of life to love. Magic. I wrap my glance around the form I see, the form that gives me joy.
And when I bend to join my lips to hers, she fondly bends to mine. She burns with equal flames. And when my arms I stretch, she stretches hers. Your eyes with pleasure on my face you keep. You smile when I smile and when I weep, you weep. Your well-turned neck and shoulders; your spacious forehead and your sparkling eyes, your mouth dreaming in sweetness, your slow hands, your flowing hair. Stay with me that I may see thy lovely form, stay with me that I may hear thy lovely voice, for though I may not touch thee, I shall feed my eyes & ears and soothe my wretched pains.
In the dark I can be two. Me and her. Day and night. Ghost and family. Past and future. Strong & weak. Old & young. Angry & sad. Challenged & embarrassed. We fight and we argue. She makes me uncomfortable, but she speaks my language. In the dark — where we’re all strangers.
And when she leaves, I’ll be heart-broken. And when they kill her, I weep just as everyone else. In the dark.
You may say she’s not the real thing, a gay delusion — the the moment I avert my gaze, I’ll lose her. You may say she’s a creature of the underworld who shall not stand the test of bright sunlight — she’ll melt like ice, dissolve like wax. What do you know about us?
Those pretty flowers in your vase? Not me.
I’m falling in love with her.
Posted: October 31st, 2009
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