The RetroLounge Daily Poem Thread (Sat 9/30/06)

Love Soup

I

On this night I dream we accompany our child
to the ritual baths, built
deep into the ground, below the vision
of those involved in daily life. So none
unschooled in congress
can see the lovers in their profound
rites, examining their bodies,
learning nakedness,
immersion.

I awake to the stroke of a hand,
move my body flush to my old man.

II

What wisdom can we leave our children about love.
It is our generation which first exposed
our sores to the air, formed elegant tattoos
from our scars, wrenching joy from pain
that danger shows. We are sitting in the cafe,
watching our daughters walk past the men
they might have loved and meeting
mirrors of their misery, those
who cannot give them joy,
and making the wrong men
miserable.

III

This woman, whose breasts
tumble from her heart, takes her measure
in another's eye - the greater
he is, the larger the reflection,
and the farther away
the more of herself she sees

And in the evening she makes love
to her own body - washing her hair,
massaging her fingers before
her manicure

IV

And of that man whose voice
is honey hunger I know
nothing; of his flat -
the living room
with its two arm chairs
facing the music:
receiver, tape deck,
compact disk, speakers -
the wall-to-wall record collection
(God he pulls them out as if he knew
where each one was blind folded).

All those people in all those songs
all alone in their albums

V

"I slept with Jagger"
my friend from California writes
after years of dreaming
of sleeping with Jagger
"and all the time
I was thinking
of my dream
of sleeping with Jagger"

VI

Why can't Mick get satis
faction? We were assured
it, or our money
returned.

And in bed the other
looks nothing like
the perfect people
in movies.

We have been promised too much
to take our pleasure
as it comes.

VII

I can't get no
satis

Nothing's
better than more

Less than all
will not satisfy

When what we want
is possession

VIII

In the dark ages before
the Joy of Sex every
touch was its own

IX

Will you teach me love,
She asks.
He turns his back

Thank you.

X

What do we owe each other in the game of love,
What do we owe ourselves
and what choice do we
have — so many people
in bed with us,
like Russian dolls
one mother inside the other,
or action shots on low speed film
endless shadows seeming
to move as one.

XI

How interchangeable are genitalia
and how specific desire

XII

Obsessions are easy:
loving someone who doesn't
love back. So pure.
Hitting ball after ball
into an empty court
you don't expect to return

Then it comes back
and the game becomes
complex
almost
impossible

moving, changing,
dangerous.

XIII

The closer you get
the less you see
the more you become

The more you become me
the less you are
a lover

Keep your distance
stay near

XIV

What if you fall
into a warm bath
of love soup
and as you lie there, sated,
the soup cools, congeals,
catches you in its clammy
vegetable grasp

XV

The oldest woman I know,
lectures in rest homes on Truth.

At the movies,
the scene turns sexy
she clasps her breast, whispers
over and again, "O, my heart, my
heart"

And Yeats ends hungering
for a girl in his arms

XVI

You awakened this poem

I sought you for that
thought of that shudder
strength you would open
that wonder
you didn't know

then

XVII

A young man in my dream
serves me lentil soup
with a deep smile
I am thrilled to share.
I was hungry and you fed me
pottage, I say, and see
he looks like the boy I loved
many years away,
like the orderly
who cared for my father
with warm gentle hands
those days he was dying.

Karen Alkalay-Gut

*******************

RL

If you have a request for a certain Poet, post their name in the thread and I will find a poem by them and post it...

if you want to see some of my poetry, see the blog at:
http://www.myspace.com/retropaul

Nothing's
better than more

Less than all
will not satisfy

When what we want
is possession

:hi:

:loveya:

RL

Obsessions are easy:
loving someone who doesn't
love back. So pure.
Hitting ball after ball
into an empty court
you don't expect to return...

This really says it for me......and to me......

Only now I am shedding it ..........

Slowly......and sometimes painfully........

Great poem, Retro..........

Thanks.....:hug:

:hug:

RL

when I read this:

And in bed the other
looks nothing like
the perfect people
in movies.

"They go to bed with Gilda and wake up with Rita."

Amazing to think even someone like her could feel this way.

Lots of questions in this poem and no answers. I like it. I don't agree with this: "What wisdom can we leave our children about love.
It is our generation which first exposed
our sores to the air", it's true only in the context of recent history, and only in certain cultural contexts. I don't like that myopic kind of view but I understand where she is coming from comparing baby-boomers (I'm guessing) to the previous generation or two.