A meditation upon the poetic metaphor, in sonnet form
Were I not so allergic to flowers,
I might love you in a flowery way, like all
the poets have loved their roses, bellflowers,
daisies, lilies, mostly roses—your small
petals would be so delicate, but I
could be gentle, and your scent wouldn’t make
me sneeze—I would be able to sniff my
fill of your sweet pollen. Then I could take
you from the soil and put you in a pot
near my window, and I could see you when-
ever I wanted. So until you rot,
you would be a very nice addition
to my decor, and I would miss you when
you withered. But I’ve terrible aller-
gies, so if you just stay as a woman
that will suffice. Honestly, I’d rather
you were this way, faults and all. I’d miss
our conversations, and the way we kiss.
Mr. and Mrs. Arnold
Matthew Arnold had a thought, I heard,
And jotted down a few lines on his honeymoon.
Hecht in New York thought they were absurd
And had a go at poor Arnold and his wife.
Arnold was a poet, after all—
A stagy, sentimental one, it seems,
And even Willy Yeats gave him a call
To say, “There’s keen delight in what we have:
The rattle of pebbles on the shore
Under the receding wave.”
I think I’ve come across that wave before
But that’s the nature of a wave.
So Matthew Arnold tries to write this thing
Because he’s just been hitched—the moon is full—
He's all caught up in how the dark sea brings
His thoughts back all the way to Sophocles—
And suddenly he gets this overwhelming vibe
That maybe the universe is dark the whole way through
But love gives light enough, so we get by...
Anyway, I liked the poem quite a bit.