A Love Poem Project part 3

These private minutes punctuate fatality
With something new.  Such modification must consider
how the historians repair copulation and eroticism
into all known fears.

By arranging us against each others' bedding
Or these desires outnumbering you.  Listen to the tape spin and break,
We are all bound to the gun, we harlots, we whores,
We women, mothers, daughters.

We observe men gesticulating,
Observe them going down.  The red severed lies, the passion
Man pays to impart; our cold lust for leverage
Warrants all actions.

We are not Ceasar's, you know,
To dance to these crude bards of his.  We are fat
From Devil's desserts, but fatter still from his dirty
little lies.

Let boys want pleasure, and men
Struggle for power, but women will rise to fame,
And the servitude to be ended by Leaders and the dupes of each time.
Ours is now theirs.


Be Angry at the Sun by Robinson Jeffers from Selected Poems (Original Copyright 1963)

That public men publish falsehoods
Is nothing new.  That America must accept
Like the historical republics corruption and empire
Has been known for years.

Be angry at the sun for setting
If these things anger you.  Watch the wheel slope and turn,
They are all bound on the wheel, these people, those warriors,
This republic, Europe, Asia.

Observe them gesticulating,
Observe them going down.  The gang serves lies, the passionate
Man plays his part; the cold passion for truth
Hunts in no pack.

You are not Catullus, you know,
To lampoon these crude sketches of Caesar.  You are far
From Dante's feet, but even farther from his dirty
Political hatreds.

Let boys want pleasure, and men
Struggle for power, and women perhaps for fame,
And the servile to serve a Leader and the dupes to be duped.
Yours is not theirs.