A Reading

The old poet
with his face full of lines,
with iambs jumping in his hair like fleas,
with all the revisions of his body
unsaying him,
walks to the podium.

He is about to tell us
how he came to this.

poem by Erica Jong
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Poem to Kabir

Kabir says
the breath inside the breath
is God

& I say to Kabir
you are the breath inside that breath
which is not to say
that the poet is God-

but only that God
uses the poet
as the wind
uses
a sail.

poem by Erica Jong
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The Man Giving Birth in the Dark

The man giving birth in the dark
has died
& come back
to life again,

is stretching out his arms
in the dark
as if to embrace
favorite ghosts.

His heart stops
& starts.
Once more
he has been pardoned

for nothing.
It is my father
making the darkness
into daughters.

poem by Erica Jong
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There Is Only One Story

There is only one story:
he loved her,
then stopped loving her,
while she did not
stop loving him.

There is only one story:
she loved him,
then stopped loving him,
while he did not
stop loving her.

The truth is simple:
you do not die
from love.

You only wish
you did.

poem by Erica Jong
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The Ecological Apocalypse

Because he dreams of seeding the world with words
his eyes bite
She looks He looks away
He is snow-blind
from staring at her breasts
They make love
This is marked by asterisks
those gaps
disguised as stars

***
He thinks the future is a mouth
She invites him
into her apple

poem by Erica Jong
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You Operate

You operate on the afternoon
You perform open heart surgery
on the ghosts
of your suicidal friends

You divorce your parents
before you have time
to be born

You kick out your wife & child
You tell your girlfriend
to go screw herself

This is the solitude you wanted
The silence
is stitching you up
you write

poem by Erica Jong
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I Try to Keep

I try to keep
falling in love
if only to keep
death

at bay.

I know
that the burned
witches,
that the seared flesh
of the enemy-

O we are all
each other's
enemies,
even sometimes those
who lately
were

[...] Read more

poem by Erica Jong
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Flying at Forty

You call me
courageous,
I who grew up
gnawing on books,
as some kids
gnaw
on bubble gum,

who married disastrously
not once
but three times,
yet have a lovely daughter
I would not undo
for all the dope
in California.

Fear was my element,
fear my contagion.
I swam in it
till I became

[...] Read more

poem by Erica Jong
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New England Winter

Testing the soul's mettle,
the frost heaves
holes in the roads
to the heart,
the glass forest
raises up its branches
to praise all things
that catch the light
then melt.
The forest floor is white,
but here & there a boulder rises
with its glacial arrogance
& brooks that bubble
under the sheets of ice
remind us that the tundra of the soul
will soften
just a little
towards the spring.

poem by Erica Jong
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His Silence

He still wears the glass skin of childhood.
Under his hands, the stones turn mirrors.
His eyes are knives.

Who froze the ground to his feet?
Who locked his mouth into an horizon?
Why does the sun set when we touch?

I look for the lines between the silences.
He looks only for the silences.

Cram this page under his tongue.
Open him as if for surgery.
Let the red knife love slide in

poem by Erica Jong
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