Caroling Dusk/Letters Found Near a Suicide

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LETTERS FOUND NEAR A SUICIDE

To all of you   My little stone   Sinks quickly   Into the bosom of this deep, dark pool   Of oblivion . . .   I have troubled its breast but little   Yet those far shores   That knew me not   Will feel the fleeting, furtive kiss   Of my tiny concentric ripples . . .
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To Lewellyn   You have borne full well   The burden of my friendship—   I have drunk deep   At your crystal pool,   And in return   I have polluted its waters   With the bile of my hatred.   I have flooded your soul   With tortuous thoughts,   I have played Iscariot   To your Pythias . . .
To Mother   I came   In the blinding sweep   Of ecstatic pain,   I go   In the throbbing pulse   Of aching space—   In the eons between   I piled upon you   Pain on pain
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To B———   You have freed me—   In opening wide the doors   Of flesh   You have freed me   Of the binding leash.   I have climbed the heights   Of white disaster   My body screaming   In the silver crash of passion . . .   Before you gave yourself   To him   I had chained myself   For you.   But when at last   You lowered your proud flag   In surrender complete   You gave me too, as hostage—   And I have wept my joy   At the dawn-tipped shrine   Of many breasts.
To Jean   When you poured your love   Like molten flame   Into the throbbing mold   Of her pulsing veins   Leaving her blood a river of fire   And her arteries channels of light,   I hated you . . . ​   Hated with that primal hate   That has its wells   In the flesh of me   And the flesh of you   And the flesh of her   I hated you—   Hated with envy   Your mastery of her being . . .   With one fleshy gesture   You pricked the iridescent bubble   Of my dreams   And so to make   Your conquest more sweet   I tell you now   That I hated you.
To Catalina   Love thy piano, Oh girl,   It will give you back   Note for note   The harmonies of your soul.   It will sing back to you   The high songs of your heart.   It will give   As well as take. . . .
To Mariette   I sought consolation   In the sorrow of your eyes.   You sought reguerdon ​   In the crying of my heart . . .   We found that shattered dreamers   Can be bitter hosts. . . .
To———   You call it   Death of the Spirit   And I call it Life . . .   The vigor of vibration,   The muffled knocks,   The silver sheen of passion’s flood,   The ecstasy of pain . . .   You call it   Death of the Spirit   And I call it Life.
To Telie   You have made my voice   A rippling laugh   But my heart   A crying thing . . .   ’Tis better thus:   A fleeting kiss   And then,   The dark . . .
To “Chick”   Oh Achilles of the moleskins   And the gridiron   Do not wonder ​   Nor doubt that this is I   That lies so calmly here—   This is the same exultant beast   That so joyously   Ran the ball with you   In those far flung days of abandon.   You remember how recklessly   We revelled in the heat and the dust   And the swirl of conflict?   You remember they called us   The Terrible Two?   And you remember   After we had battered our heads   And our bodies   Against the stonewall of their defense,—   You remember the signal I would call   And how you would look at me   In faith and admiration   And say “Let’s go,” . . .   How the lines would clash   And strain,   And how I would slip through   Fighting and squirming   Over the line   To victory.   You remember, Chick? . . .   When you gaze at me here   Let that same light   Of faith and admiration   Shine in your eyes ​   For I have battered the stark stonewall   Before me . . .   I have kept faith with you   And now   I have called my signal,   Found my opening   And slipped through   Fighting and squirming   Over the line   To victory. . . .
To Wanda   To you, so far away   So cold and aloof,   To you, who knew me so well,   This is my last Grand Gesture   This is my last Great Effect   And as I go winging   Through the black doors of eternity   Is that thin sound I hear   Your applause? . . .

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