Tuesday, August 21, 2018

Love the Play, Be the Play



.
As witty as she’s pretty, she’s who every lady
in a gentlewoman’s novel wants to be. Parsing out
the delicacies of her watchful sensibilities and luck,
.
without of course in any way broadcasting her advance,
she’s found she is the central presence with whom
every man must dance. She chooses confidants
.
and confidences with an almost playful sense
of mild unguarded ease – a touch of tease –
and yet a breath, though never taken heavily,
.
that something more than nothing may well be
at stake. She is the cake and they are eating it
and she is eating it: there always will be more. Ears
.
she favors with her secrets are both known to be
deserving, and deserving. Perhaps this sounds
self-serving: as if her main pursuit resides in publicly
.
performing her appeal: ministering only to the very
knowing, deeper minds, more handsome brows –
those gentlemen who have a feel for depth and value
.
and who can’t not fall in love with every ripple
of her surreptitious sense of the absurd – so fresh
with laughter! – touched with nearly negligible sighs.
.
This is neither solipsistic nor unwise. Wondrous things
get said in bed with human treats as fully formed
and sweet as she. Play it to the hilt, my dear: release
.
your talent for the balances of volupté and every
elegant, sharp, brilliant bit of evidence you have  
amassed of what you’re more than certain
.
is persuasive re: the wars of soul and class
in Proust. Perhaps assume a looser stance
onstage today. Love the play. Be the play.
.

No comments: