I'm going to excerpt from the last section
and I want to explain something first,
because what invariably happens is that I underestimate,
as I did this evening how long I would putter along
in the other poems, and wind up excerpting the fewest from what
is I think, the longest section the last in this book,
it's called "Constant Feelings."
And what I really wanted to do after I realized I was doing
a cheater's version of a long poem, i.e. a sequence--
And after I realized I was doing a sequence
and after I realized what it was about,
and after I realized where it might go,
after I'd stumbled long enough that
is to have discovered something I hoped,
I wanted to create an affirmative but not simple
minded statement based on the facts.
So I of course, can't say whether I succeeded or not,
but finally the book does end on what the conductor used
to call the upbeat.
And I'll excerpt just a few to try to indicate it.
I promised I would read these first two
ones called the oldest child.
My oldest son is 12, his name is Nathan,
and the oldest child always has a special role of course,
because he has to educate the parents,
and he goes through his childhood
as if he were beating his head against the stone wall
makes it easier for the next child.
So this is called "The Oldest Child."
Nathan, precedes by his head as through stone walls or an arrow
through a conduit.
But the substance of this pointed love
cuts deep channels a bucket couldn't touch.
His bloodletting, and heartbreaking, and the crush
of bone wanting breath.
Nathan, proceeds as if he believed
everything will be all right if we can put on the thimbles.
It will be OK when we cover the candles,
and so move into the dark without weapons, alright,
when the white weave of intentions
is brought to surgery in the poem.
Nathan, helpless before his soft insides.
Nathan, with real and natural mothers.
Nathan, like water to whom ice has closed off
the avenues of escape.
Nathan, goes forward past stars, fathers,
dark to his own lights.
His glands swell, his heart hardens.