Paterson (Revised Edition) (16 page)

Only one

Incredible!

Only one I’m interested in

right now

What is he like?

Who?

Your lover

Oh him. He’s married. I

haven’t got a chance with him

You hussy! And what do you do together?

Just talk.

.     .     .     .     .     .

Phyllis & Paterson

Are you happy

Happy I’ve come?

Happy? No, I’m not happy

Never?

Well     .

The couch looks

comfortable

.     .     .     .     .     .

The Poet

Oh Paterson! Oh married man!

He is the city of cheap hotels and private

entrances     .     of taxis at the door, the car

standing in the rain hour after hour by

the roadhouse entrance     .

Good-bye, dear. I had a wonderful time.

Wait! there’s something     .     but I’ve forgotten

what it was     .     something I wanted

to tell you.     Completely gone! Completely.

Well, good-bye     .

.     .     .     .     .     .

Phyllis & Paterson

How long can you stay?

Six-thirty     .     I’ve got

to meet the boy friend

Take off your clothes

No. I’m good at saying that.

She stood

quietly to be undressed     .

the buttons were difficult     .

This is one of my father’s

best. You ought to have heard

him this morning when I

cut the tails off     .

He drew back the white

shirt     .     slid aside the

ribbons     .

Glory be to God     .

— then stripped her

and all His Saints!

.

No, just broad shouldered

.

— on the couch, kissing and talking while his

hands explored her body, slowly     .

courteously     .     persistent

.

Be careful     .

I’ve got an awful cold

It’s the first

this year. We went

fishing in all

that rain last week

Who? Your father?

— and my boy friend

Fly fishing?

No. Bass. But it isn’t

the season. I know that

but nobody saw us

I got soaked to the skin

Can you fish?

Oh I have a pole and a

line and just fish along

We caught quite a few

.     .     .     .     .     .

Corydon & Phyllis

Good morning, Phyllis. You are beautiful this morning (in a common sort of way) I wonder if you know how lovely you really are, Phyllis, my little Milk Maid (That’s good! The lucky man!) I dreamt of you last night.

.

A Letter

I don’t care what you say. Unless Mother writes me, herself, that you’ve stopped drinking—and I mean
stopped drinking
—I won’t come home.

.

Corydon
&
Phyllis

What sort of people do you come from, Phyllis?

My father’s a drunk.

That’s more humility than the situation demands. Never be ashamed of your origins.

I’m not. It’s just the truth.

The truth! Virtue, my dear, if one had it! is only interesting in the aggregate, as you will discover     .     or perhaps you have already found it so. That’s our Christian teaching: not denial but forgiveness, the Prodigal Daughter. Have you ever been to bed with a man?

Have you?

Good shot! With this body? I think I’m more horse than woman. Did you ever see such skin as mine? Speckled like a Guinea hen     .

Only
their
speckles are white.

More like a toad, perhaps?

I didn’t say that.

Why not? It’s the truth, my little Oread. Indomitable. Let’s change names. You be Corydon! And I’ll play Phyllis. Young! Innocent! One can fairly hear the pelting of apples and the stomp and clatter of Pan’s hoofbeats. Tantamount to nothing     .

.     .     .     .     .     .

Phyllis & Paterson

Look at us! Why do you

torment yourself?

You think I’m a virgin.

Suppose I told you

I’d had intercourse. What

would you say then?

What would you say? Suppose

I told you that     .

She leaned forward in

the half light, close to

his face. Tell

me, what would you say?

Have you had many lovers?

No one who has mauled me

the way you have. Look,

we’re all sweaty     .

.

My father’s trying to get me a horse     .

.

I went out, once, with a boy

I only knew him a short time

He asked me     .     .

No, I said, of course not!

He acted so surprised.

Why, he said, most girls

are crazy for it. I

thought they all were     .

You ought to have seen

my eyes. I never heard

of such a thing     .

.

I don’t know why I can’t give myself to you. A man like you should have everything he wants     .     I guess I care too much, that’s the trouble     .

     .     .     .     .     .     .

Corydon & Phyllis

Phyllis, good morning. Could you stand a drink at this early hour? I’ve written you a poem     .     and the worst is, I’m about to read it to you     .     You don’t have to like it. But, hell take it, you damn well better listen to it. Look at me shake! Or better, let me give you a short one, to begin with:

If I am virtuous

condemn me

If my life is felicitous

condemn me

The world is

iniquitous

Mean anything?

Not much.

Well, here’s another:

You dreamy

Communist

where are you

going?

To world’s end

Via?

Chemistry

Oh oh oh oh

That will

really

be the end     .

you

dreamy Communist

won’t it?

Together

together

“With that she split her girdle.” Gimme another shot. I always fell on my face when I wanted to step out. But here goes! Here it is. This is what I’ve been leading up to. It’s called,
Corydon, a Pastoral.
We’ll skip the first part, about the rocks and sheep, begin with the helicopter. You remember that?

.     .     drives the gulls up in a cloud

Um     .     no more woods and fields. Therefore

present, forever present

.     a whirring pterodactyl

of a contrivance, to remind one of Da Vinci,

searches the Hellgate current for some corpse,

lest the gulls feed on it

and its identity and its sex,
as
its hopes, and its

despairs and its moles and its marks and

its teeth and its nails be no longer decipherable

and so lost     .

therefore present,

forever present     .

The gulls, vortices of despair, circle and give

voice to their wild responses until the thing

is gone     .     then, ravening, having scattered

to survive, close again upon the focus,

the bare stones, three harbor stones, except

for that     .     useless

unprofaned     .

It stinks!

If this were rhyme, Sweetheart

such rhyme as might be made

jaws would hang open     .

But the measure of it is the thing     .     None

can wish for an embellishment

and keep his mind lean,

fit for action     .

such action as I plan

— to turn my hand up and hold

it open, to the rain     .

of their deaths

that I brood     .     and find none ready

but mine own     .

Nuts! After that, how about a story that’s a little
recherché
, a little strong? To hide my embarrassment? O.K.?

Sure.

Skip it.

A ring is round

but cannot bind

though it may bound

a lover’s mind

Phyllis, I think I’m quite well now     .     .     How would you like to go fishing with me somewhere? You like to fish     .

Can I bring my father?

No, you can’t bring your father. You’re a big girl now. A month with me, in the woods! I have a concession. Don’t answer at once. You’ve never been to Anticosti     .     ?

What’s it like, pizza?

Phyllis, you’re a bad girl. Let me go on with my poem

.     .     .     .     .     .

Dear Pappy:

How yuh doin’? Are you behaving? because she wants me to go fishing with her. For a month! What do you say? You’d like that.

Is that so? Well, you know where you can get off at. And don’t think you can start coming in here. Because if you do I’ll
never
go home. And you
haven’t stopped drinking!
Don’t try to kid me.

Alright, if you think I’m in danger then learn to behave yourself. Are you a weakling or something? But I won’t go through all that again. Never. Don’t worry, as I told you, I can take care of myself. And if anything happens me, so what? Blame it on I’ve got a father who is a drunk.

Your daughter

P.

.     .     .     .     .     .

Phyllis & Paterson

This dress is sweaty. I’ll have

to have it cleaned

It lifted past the shoulders.

Under it, her stockings

Big thighs     .

.

Let us read, said the King

lightly. Let us

redivagate, said the Queen

even more lightly

and without batting an eye

.

He took her nipples

gently in his lips. No

I don’t like it

.     .     .     .     .     .

Corydon & Phyllis

You remember where we left off? At the entrance to the 45th Street tunnel     .     Let’s see

.     houses placarded:

Unfit for human habitation     etc     etc

Oh yes     .

Condemned     .

But who has been condemned     .     where the tunnel

under the river starts?
Voi ch’entrate

revisited! Under ground, under rock, under river

under gulls     .     under the insane     .

.     the traffic is engulfed and disappears     .

to emerge     .     never

A voice calling in the hubbub (Why else

are there newspapers, by the cart-load?) blaring

the news no wit shall evade, no rhyme

cover. Necessity gripping the words     .     scouting

evasion, that love is begrimed, befouled     .

I’d like to spill the truth, on that one.

Why don’t you?

This is a POEM!

begrimed

yet lifts its head, having suffered a sea-change!

shorn of its eyes and its hair

its teeth kicked out     .     a bitter submersion

in darkness     .     a gelding, not to be

listed     .     to be made ready! fit to

serve (vermin trout, that eat the salmon eggs,

gaze up through the dazzle     .     in glass

necklaces     .     picturesque peasant stuff

without value)     .     pulp

While in the tall

buildings (sliding up and down) is where

the money’s made

up and down

directed missiles

in the greased shafts of the tall buildings     .

They stand torpid in cages, in violent motion

unmoved

but alert!

predatory minds, un-

affected

UNINCONVENIENCED

unsexed, up

and down (without wing motion) This is how

the money’s made     .     using such plugs.

At the

sanitary lunch hour packed woman to

woman (or man to woman, what’s the difference?)

the flesh of their faces gone

to fat or gristle, without recognizable

outline, fixed in rigors, adipose or sclerosis

expressionless, facing one another, a mould

for all faces (canned fish) this     .

Move toward the back, please, and face the door!

is how the money’s made,

money’s made

pressed together

talking excitedly     .     of the next sandwich     .

reading, from one hand, of some student, come

waterlogged to the surface following

last night’s thunderstorm     .     the flesh a

flesh of tears and fighting gulls     .

Oh I could cry!

cry upon your young shoulder for what I know.

I feel so alone     .

.     .     .     .     .     .

Phyllis & Paterson

I think I’ll go on the stage,

said she, with a deprecating laugh,

Ho, ho!

Why don’t you? he replied

though the legs, I’m afraid, would

beat you     .

.     .     .     .     .     .

Corydon & Phyllis

.     with me, Phyllis

(I’m no Simaetha) in all your native loveliness

that these spiked rumors may not tear

that sweet flesh

It sounds as tho’ I wanted to eat you, I’ll have to change that.

Come with me to Anticosti, where the salmon

lie spawning in the sun in the shallow water

I think that’s Yeats     .

— and we shall fish for the salmon fish

No, I think
that’s
the Yeats     .

— and its silver

shall be our crest and guerdon (what’s a guerdon?)

drawn struggling     .

Believe me, some tussle!

from the icy water     .

I wish you’d come, dear, I’ve got my yacht all stocked and ready. Let me take you on a tour     .     of Paradise!

That
I’d like to see.

Then why not come?

I’m not ready to die yet, not even for that.