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Harold Norse
Three Poems
Classic Frieze in a Garage
I was walking thru the city past umber embassies
& pine-lined palaces
fat palms beside balconies
the heat something
you could really touchthe kids with cunning
delinquent faces
after americano sailors-thinking of nerval tends-moi le pausilippe
et la mer d'Italie & living
on the hill posillipo under
a gangster's dancefloor
among goldfincheson the bay of naples
in a stone cottage
over tufa caves in which the sea
crashed in winter sweet gerard
one hundred years
have made the desolation greaterthe tower is really down & the sun blackened
beyond despair the loudspeaker drowns
finches cliffs caves
all in the hands of racketeers
yet i have passed my time dreaming thru this
fantastic wreckwalking thru incendiary alleys of crowded laundry
with yellow gourds in windows &
crumbling masonry of wars
human corruption
so thick and hopeless that i laughwhen suddenly i saw among the oil & greasy rags
& wheels & axles of a garage
the carved nude figures of
a classic frieze
there above the dismantled
parts of cars!perfect! & how strange! garage
swallows sarcophagus!
mechanic calmly spraying
paint on a
fender
observed in turn by lapith and centaur!flow
of unthinking flesh!
frank thighs! eyes
of aphrodite!the myth of the mediterranean
was in that garage
where the brown wiry
youths saw nothing unusual
at their work
among dead heroes & godsbut i saw hermes in the rainbow
of the dark oil on the floor
reflected there
& the wild hair of the sybil
as her words bubbled
mad and drowned
beneath the motor's roar
Island of Giglio
we sailed into the harbor
all the church bells rang
the main street on the crescent shore
hung iridescent silks from windows
stucco housefronts gleamed
rose, pistachio, peach
and a procession sang
behind a surpliced priest
carrying a burnished Christ
when I set foot on shore
a youth emerged from the crowd
barefoot and olive-skinned
and we climbed up rocky slopes
till dusk fell and close to the moon
at the mouth of a cave we made love
as the sea broke wild beneath the cliff
Piccolo Paradiso
let the age hang itself! we've had
four marvelous days together
no news reports only music
& no serious discussions
plenty of wine the best
from the islands
white
falerno & ischian
& lacrima cristi
we've made up
for months
of loneliness
hard work
nastiness
of 'superiors'
we may not live
very well or long
our mistakes are perhaps too great
to bear correction
at this midpoint
of our lives (you're somewhat younger)
surely too great
to make up for the lengths we go
to hide theme cosi...that's
how it goes
but at least
we're ahead of the gamewe've stolen a march
on the dead the herd
if the return to grayness
sharp tempered weapons
of those who force life
into corners
is more than we can bear
remember this
the wine
the ladder
of stars that climb
vesuvius outside
my window
the waves
banging into smooth
tufa caves
& the opera
as we lay together
remember
Copyright (c) Harold Norse 2003. All rights reserved.
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