This poem, "The One God Is Mysterious," is in Night of a Thousand Blossoms. It reminds me of the poem that begins Linda Gregg's Chosen by the Lion, "The Ninth Dawn," in which the speaker meditates on human suffering in the classical myths, and suggests that
The godsGaspar is not as dramatic as that, but the impulse is similar, to find in ancient texts--in this case, an illustration of a Babylonian sculpture--the rhyme with one's own experience--one's
want the honey in the hive, are willing to have
the lovers destroyed. There is a grand design
pulsing around their perishing.
own memory of excess and extravagance,
of abandonment to the weight of everything
that pulls me down to ruin, those same ticks
and voices that lift me up and fill me with breath.
I want a life in which art, or history, or contemplation, makes 'every dark wish lie down with every bright wish':
from an illustration of Babylonian sculpture
The king and his queen are feasting. They recline, sumptuously, on long divans and are attended by naked servants. They can have anything they want, this much is clear, and I believe they have been having sex with one another and with the servants. Why wouldn’t they? Who among the servants would not be honored to help? And it’s Babylon after all, and doesn’t Babylon exist in your memory? Isn’t Babylon the clear rumbling of your heart at ease with its every craving-- not the way it is now, fenced off with spiked wire and old pipes, with signs telling the pedestrians to beware: the litter, the old cans rusting. No, this is my own memory of excess and extravagance, of abandonment to the weight of everything that pulls me down to ruin, those same ticks and voices that lift me up and fill me with breath. And don’t you want to drink the breath of your beloved? And his beloved? And her beloved? You see how it goes. The One God is mysterious and He has made me crazy. Maybe I am the king or the queen. Or one of those sculpted figures that bend so sweetly toward them, so graceful, so finely formed and desirable in every way. I remember being desired like that, and desiring like that also. And I remember my heart in its deep voice, commanding. Now that my common neighborhood is tucked in for the night, the cars parked in the driveways, the blinds drawn and everyone’s drapes closed and the garage doors locked, I can breathe easier. Now, in Babylon, you see what is possible. The queen and her king are dining, forever, in a gray frieze, but even so, they make a fire in us, they free the ache from my shoulders, they make every dark wish lie down with every bright wish, they bring a great comfort to the harried in this land.