15 March 2007

Poetry and Prose

(1)

There was no getting to his weakness. In public, even in summer, he wore big boots, specially made for him, a band of steel reinforcing each heel. At home, when he bathed or slept, he kept a pistol within reach, loaded. And because to be invulnerable is to be alone, he was alone even when he was with you. You could sense it in the rigidity of his carriage, as if under his fine-fitting suits were layers of armour. Yet everyone loved to see him in action. While his enemies were thinking of small advantages, he only thought endgame.

Then she came along, who seemed to be all women fused into one, cheekbones and breasts evidence that evolution doesn’t care about fairness, and a mind so good, well, it was like his. You could see his body soften, and days later, when finally they were naked, she instinctively knew what to do – as smart men do with a mastectomy scar – kiss his heel before kissing what he considered to be his power, and with a tenderness that made him tremble.

And so Achilles began to live differently. Both friends and enemies were astounded by his willingness to listen, and hesitate before responding. Even in victory he’d walk away without angering a single god. He wore sandals now because she liked him in sandals. He never felt so exposed, or so open to the world. You could see in his face something resembling terror, but in fact it was love, for which he would die.

* * * * *
(2)


She smiled a moment, as if she had forgotten that;
Gave me an intense look,
Seemed about to say something else,
Changed her mind.
She opened the door and we went in.
There was a lamp on by the bed,
The shutters were closed.
The bed was as she had left it,
The sheet and a folk-weave bedspread thrown aside,
The pillow crumpled;
Some open book of poetry beneath the lamp.
I could see its broken lines of print;
An abalone shell used as an ash-tray.
We stood a little at a loss, as people do
When they have foreseen such moments too long.
Her hair was down,
The white hem of her nightdress reached almost
To her ankles.
She glanced around the room, as if with my eyes,
As if I might be contemptuous of such domestic simplicity;
Made a little grimace.
I smiled but her shyness was contagious –
Adam and Eve before the Fall.


The first piece (1) is a poem by Stephen Dunn, called Achilles in Love, written out as a piece of prose. The second (2) is a couple of paragraphs from John Fowles' The Magus, written out as free 'verse'.

It makes me wonder.

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