Oh, To Be "Equally In Love With. . . The Romance of the Difficult"

". . . the other, equally in love with beauty and the romance of the difficult" says Silliman this morning. Ah! Now I know why I've always loved Jack Gilbert, the poetry, that is. That affinity. To be equally in love with "truth" as Silliman says of Laura (Riding) Jackson, and the "romance of the difficult"—mea culpa. ("And I'll be guilty for the rest of my life" as Bonnie sings it.)

Is that what that is, now? This rising? A romance of the difficult?

Perhaps not a good thing to ponder when confronted with new galleys for five books woven together, 25 years of lifework processed as poetry: the vital quest for Truth and the romance of the difficult. Or, is that the romance WITH the Difficult — thinking of breakfast dishes whizzing past quietude & into the split lip of the silent poet, the trial ending of passive resistence. (Not my story, by the way, but one told to me by the flinger: "He would never say a word to me.") Sufferage to the listening (loving) poet.

I guess.

I read Jack now, "A Brief for the Defense":

"To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat
comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth
all the years of sorrow that are to come."

And I'm not convinced.

Not as much as I am in love with the idea of the very difficult poet seeking the air-conditioned refuge of the ubiquitous, and finding poetry, nonetheless, the very serendipity. And, the purchase.

While this poet beats the heat in a new bikini under the sprinkers, tending her garden of sage & vegetables unknown to her for the Chinese characters on the packages, reading — herself: a long & difficult romance.

¡Adelante, La Poesia!

simón que sí y bon voyage

y'all