Reading, living, and translating American poetry
On the road to a door
On the way to a window
I saw nothing like a soul
Only the dust in competition
Lifted by the air
That was like a sailor joking
Nothing carried to nothing
A sailor was bouncing
In the world's salt: Now dance!
Now you are dancing like the world
Nothing equals nothing like a word
I get lost and make mistakes in your grace.
Copyright ©: David Shapiro
The title may refer to a song by Manuel de Falla
Playing without a net’s
Not such a bad idea*.
And what if the
Emperor’s clothes
Were a good idea,
As the painter said to me.
Playing tennis in the dark:
A lot like poetry.
Playing tennis in autumn leaves, is that
Too much like poetry.
Tennis is a game,
Therefore not poetry.
Nor is it a dream,
The opposite of stupidity.
But it is “the
Articulatory dance of the speech-
organs.“ You play it
In a field, the visual
Field without an eye.
You play it against a wall.
It rebounds endlessly.
By day, you are a tennis player.
By night, the famous other awakes
To brass and violins
That white-out you and me.
The friends disperse.
You engrave the tennis
Court, enmeshed like bottles.
The net flaps, like
A melancholy faith.
Only the businessman
Is confident, like an
Old metre, lilting.
Playing tennis without
A net’s not such a poor idea.
Playing tennis in the
Dark is a lot like poetry.
Copyright ©: David Shapiro
(in: Selected Poems, 2007. p. 234)
*This poem is probably a comment on Ashbery's "Tennins Court Oath" and/or a reference to the French Revolution.