Contagion!

Contagion!
Your form is like the bee's
Who, with his duty executed,
Rests in jubilee.

The Contract

Love is an unraveling thing
That, after the contract pledged,
Reveals to each the lengthy verse
--The contract to be read.

Wearing horn-rimmed spectacles
Or sipping tea from cup,
The lovers' eyes traverse the words
Which then had seemed so brusque.

Litigation not required,
The lovers mend their terms;
With compromise - not compromised -
Once lawful love confirmed.

Slowly of its character
Does the eye discern,
In fullness only to be held
When lovers rest in urns.

And if law had held together then
When love would now suffice,
Was study of that Mosaic law
Not worth the sacrifice?

Flatulence

Some say my poetry is austere.
Curs! Venom-tongued snakes!
If they took the slightest glimpse
Inside austerity, they would weep
Ten daggered tearsFor want of ----
My forgiveness is, however, unconditional.
Pity for the passers-by, who know
Not what they see: Victorian custom,
Tight-collared shirts are merely
A measure of precaution; for in me
Wails a song, which bloats my belly
And, at times, is so inarticulate that my bowels shake.
Others dismiss it as a symptom of my poor diet. Wiser others
See that it is lunatic frenzy frothing inside me.
When it passes from belly through heart and to lips,
The mind snatches up what scattered fragments it finds
And, sensing that it can't make sense of the fizzing mess,
Reveres the music as
Revelatory.

If flatulence of word or deed does, as it will,
Overtake my outward felicity, don't think
But rather eat.
And find yourself, from then on,
Abiding rules called heretofore "trite" and "glib" and "unfree."
You will lament from then on, and pray
That what escapes will come out with decency.

Who will relieve us hungry men whose appetites are never cloyed,
And who feed upon what the eye
Cannot with certainty speak?
What adjective have your vocabulary
To properly honor the queen, the nymph, the bee?
Come Savior, with lotus to eat!
Come take us down from our terrible seat!
Our internal orchestra is not played out of key;
Only our words are remiss, constrained by the tongue;
That is what these slanderers forget.

So if I seem austere, I remind you that
Not Hercules has strength enough
To lift from my shoulders the weight of the object of my love.
And having no recourse, what little penance I can give
Is never enough.
The best a man can do is mind his manners,
And let out his euphoria most discrete.

Internal War: On Dickinson's "To fight aloud, is very brave"

To fight aloud, is very brave --
But gallanter, I know
Who charge within the bosom
The Cavalry of Woe --

Who win, and nations do not see --
Who fall -- and none observe --
Whose dying eyes, no Country
Regards with patriot love --

We trust, in plumed procession
For such, the Angels go --
Rank after Rank, with even feet --
And Uniforms of Snow.

-Emily Dickinson

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Dickinson begins with a statement: "To fight aloud, is very brave." This is intentionally ambiguous. Who are we fighting aloud with?: you can talk out loud to yourself all the time. Whether alone or with others, fighting aloud takes a bit of courage; anybody could hear us. What might they think?

However, according to Dickinson, it is "gallanter" to "charge within the bosom/The Cavalry of Woe." 'Gallantry' is some kind of 'etiquette,' for lack of a better term, that requires nobility. Hamlet considered "whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer." What is noble is a very, very complicated question. I get the sense that it is looking beyond yourself for the sake of something greater. But how does nobility fit in, then, when the only thing you are dealing with is yourself? Why would it be nobler for Hamlet or Dickinson to keep things in their mind, or in their bosom?

The best I can answer that question is that when you win an internal war, "nations do not see." When you fall, "none observe." Fighting valiantly with yourself is something "no Country/Regards with patriot love." The battle is not for honor, reputation, identity, or anything we get from somebody else. If we are going to actually fight ourselves, it requires deeper compulsion. The good we get out of it comes from something internal -- nobody else even cares if we do it. How many people go to AA or quit smoking because of other people? How many people do it by their own self-will? Who is stronger?

When you are fighting with yourself, you go through the world in a "plumed procession." You create some facade that says "hey, I am happy!" Even the Angels deal with their own internal war: Their "Uniforms of Snow" are beautiful, and their whiteness signifies purity. But snow is cold to the touch, not the eye. Putting on the angelic "Uniform" is a lot different than seeing it. The external tranquility covers some deep, ugly wounds.

If even the Angels "charge the Cavalry of Woe," my only conclusion is this: gallantry comes from the recognition that everyone has problems, and your wars are yours to fight - not somebody else's. Furthermore, it is noble to do this, because you don't burden somebody else for your own sake. Would you ask them to sacrifice their own war, just to help yours? Asking someone else to fight your war is a lot easier, and it also doesn't fix things completely: why else would psychologists get paid so much? a) People are willing to take the easy route and b) People keep coming back -- the conflict is unsettled.

Too often we 'help' by forgetting our own wars, and as a result victory comes to none.