A Good Poem
A good poem is like finding a hole
in the palace
wall--
never know what you
might
see.
-- Tukaram
in the palace
wall--
never know what you
might
see.
-- Tukaram
Caurapâñcâśikâ
Swan Song of the Thief an adaptation of Bilhana’s Caurapâñcâśikâ by Dawn Corrigan 1. Still I remember her, the white magnolia of her body, the line of hair down her belly a stamen trembling beneath my hand. I’ve lost that body like a forgotten science. 2. Still I see her light increased by love— below the stars and moon, with face aglow, her body burned as though it might catch fire until I cooled her limbs and she could sleep. 3. And still if she would come to me again with love-smeared eyes and breasts that bent thin shoulders with their weight, I’d drink her mouth— the bee, that connoisseur of nature, at a bud. 4. Still I bring her back, wearied so with love she couldn’t lift her body from the bed, black hair against her cheeks, her guilty arms wound round my neck and left their scent on me. 5. Still I remember glittering eyes that d...