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Love Poem Analysis



Author: poem of John Frederick Nims Type: poem Views: 26

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My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases,

At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring,

Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen,

And have no cunning with any soft thing



Except all ill-at-ease fidgeting people:

The refugee uncertain at the door

You make at home; deftly you steady

The drunk clambering on his undulant floor.



Unpredictable dear, the taxi drivers' terror,

Shrinking from far headlights pale as a dime

Yet leaping before apopleptic streetcars—

Misfit in any space. And never on time.



A wrench in clocks and the solar system. Only

With words and people and love you move at ease;

In traffic of wit expertly maneuver

And keep us, all devotion, at your knees.



Forgetting your coffee spreading on our flannel,

Your lipstick grinning on our coat,

So gaily in love's unbreakable heaven

Our souls on glory of spilt bourbon float.



Be with me, darling, early and late. Smash glasses—

I will study wry music for your sake.

For should your hands drop white and empty

All the toys of the world would break.





Anonymous submission.






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||| Analysis | Critique | Overview Below |||

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Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.
The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.
And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question 'Whither?'
Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?

| Posted on 2009-06-01 | by a guest




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