METAPHYSICKS
2016; Wiley; Volume: 104; Issue: 3 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1353/tyr.2016.0090
ISSN1467-9736
Autores Tópico(s)Themes in Literature Analysis
Resumo1 2 3 R M E T A P H Y S I C K S C Y N T H I A Z A R I N I Metaphysick for the New Year If Love would have her way with us she’d bind us lip to brow and brow to knee, and wind a lariat of leaves about Love’s moment that in it holds all time. But you and I are sick of love. The year has turned. My heart, where nothing sat – a wreath Love bound, that by our will will prove a collar or a crown. II A Week Later If as we’d thought: once monthly thus for three decades, this twelve-month near used up our quote of days, and squared that dozen though the year, a hoop, swerved summer – zero sum, that season’s integer, when lost we pared then doubled nought as if to reckon absence out of air. As if minus made Love’s quotient disappear. III Mid-January ‘‘Indeed it is the first day again and again of everything’’ In deed each day is made anew – Time’s gaze in time turns trespass true; 1 2 4 Y Love’s tempered arrows hit and miss and hit their mark, and prick out words the blind by touch can read. For when a bird touch down upon a pond‘s blue eye, by concentric rings its iris widens. Time, sit by Love’s side. The night unfolds tomorrow’s news. IV To Herself, Dimly These verses that you write, what mean you by them? Love not chatter needs as swans bemoaneth not more white to bleach their plumes but beg instead a pond where they might preen. Smirking, you purport: she makes her own, for sturdy craft whose bowsprits export spume. But Love regards not shirking. On her own heart she feeds. V A Game of Chess A board atilt between two chairs. How long, Love asks, has this gone on? In dream patois will mimics whim – the Queen remits her bracelets, viziers, wits, and pawns her heart to colonize the King, who retreating draws in air a triad now become a square. On which he sits. Radiant, Love pulls that throne from under him. VI Riddle Cat fur on end means a back up; two crossed sticks may coax a flame; smoke can blind or make Love fly away though ardor magicks smoke to fog 1 2 5 R and Love to Fool, who remarks not an unmade bed when Folly says: lie down on it. The pussy willow’s rune is spring. Now spell your name – wert gone ( but stay!) in winter’s pillow. VII Jupiter in Retrograde The end of winter’s transit moon brings woe. So does a horse, bedazzled, stay its trot, else run too hot and called cantankerous. Make not a twelve-month filly walk too soon – vexed, her legs will buckle under. Love bends a knee and bids the muzzle graze; better fat abed then skint abroad, lest hurry put asunder. VIII Talking About It Hip, instep, knee, wishbone – bewitched. And every molecule sequined until Love’s skin becomes a suit of scales, each note a star that singing makes no sound but breathing says – nota bene: there, and there, as musing, Love makes of touch a pretty lute – nerve, my own, and tender pitch. IX Months later As if Love’s heart run out of air so as my heart too high would speak so that my sleeve now a white flag that which simple made unstuck – flags at the chase. I thought I was other than I am. My busking hat? To my betters, whose petitions wreak more havoc than I bring to bear. 1 2 6 Y X Anatomy If you court heartbreak you may marry it. Love balks, protests, grieves, tarries – The long way round a slip-knot noose, no hanging, but had a heart ankle, wrist, knee (for though it be a living thing it does not walk, live, coo) – Wrong. These many limbs in traction. For the heart do sup, cry, sleep, rankle. XI Cathexis If I could take my heart by stealth and place it in...
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