Marginalia by W.H Auden

The gregarious
And mild-tempered never know
Each other by name:
Creatures who make friends are shy
And liable to anger.
*
Unable to see
A neighbor to frown at,
Eutroplus beat his wife.
(after K. Lorenz)
*
A dead man
Who never caused others to die
Seldom rates a statue.
*
Small tyrants, threatened by big,
Sincerely believe
They love Liberty.
*
Tyrants may get killed,
But their hangmen usually
Die in their beds.
*
Patriots? Little boys
Obsessed by bigness,
Big pricks, big money, big bangs.
*
He praised his God
For the expertise
Of his torturer and his chef.
*
Reluctant at first
To break his sworn promise
Of Safe Conduct, after
Consulting his confessor,
In good spirits
He signed a death-warrant.
*
“Be godly,” he told his flock,
“Bloody and extreme
Like the Holy Ghost.”
*
After the massacre,
They pacified their conscience
By telling jokes.
*
When their Infidel
Paymaster fell in arrears,
The mercenaries
Recalled their unstained childhoods
In devout Christian homes.
*
With silver mines,
Recruiting grounds,
A general of real genius,
He thought himself invulnerable:
In one battle
He lost all three.
*
The last king
Of a fallen dynasty
Is never well spoken of.
*
Intelligent, rich,
Humane, the young man dreamed of
Posthumous glory
As connoisseur and patron
Of Scholarship and the Arts.
An age bent on war,
The ambitions of his king,
Decreed otherwise:
He was to be remembered
As a destroyer of towns.
*
Born to flirt and write light verses,
He died bravely
By the headsman’s axe.
*
Into the prosperous quiet
Between two wars
Came Anopheles.
*
The Queen fled, leaving
Books behind her
That shocked the pious usurper.
*
Assembling
With ceremonial pomp,
The Imperial Diet
Cravely debated
Legislation
It had no power to reject.
*
Victorious over
The foreign tyrant,
The patriots retained
His emergency
Police regulations,
Devised to suppress them.
*
In States unable
To alleviate Distress,
Discontent is hanged.
*
In semi-literate countries
Demagogues pay
Court to teen-agers.
*
To maintain a stud
Of polo ponies he now
Was too stout to ride,
He slapped taxes on windows,
Hearth-stones and door-steps and wives.
*
He walked like someone
Who’d never had to
Open a door for himself.
*
Abandoning his wives,
He fled with their jewels
And two hundred dogs.
*
Providentially
Right for once in his lifetime
(His reasons were wrong),
The old sod was permitted
To save civilization.
*
Who died in Nineteen-Sixty-Five
More worthy of honors
Than Lark, the cow
Who gave to mankind
One hundred and fifteen thousand
Litres of milk?
*
When we do evil,
We and our victims
Are equally bewildered.
* *
The decent, probably,
Outnumber the swine,
But few can inherit
The genes, or procure
Both the money and time,
To join the civilized.

Your Grief for What You’ve Lost – Rumi

Your grief for what you’ve lost lifts a mirror up to where you’re bravely working.

Expecting the worst, you look, and instead, here’s the joyful face you’ve been wanting to see.

Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes. If it were always a fist or always stretched open, you would be paralyzed.

Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding, the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated

as birdwings.

for a friend who died on this day in 2000

striped bass

For my friend Joe – who died on this day in 2000. I miss you every day.

On the Feast of St. James the Greater
(for Joe C.)

This is where
he would have fished

imagine
him in the dark

gathering gear
stripers transfiguring

the moon’s
light he loses

all balance and
bearings thunder

muffling the dry
night sky

what we heard
is in the mist

blowing over
Ram Island

disappearing
like walks

we’ll never take