Levertov wrote to T.S. Eliot about her poetry at the age of 12 and received encouraging replies from him. She was a World War II nurse and a British immigrant to the US. She's tangentially connected with the Beat Poets and the San Francisco Rennaisance. She was a Vietnam protester, and had a storied academic career at a handful of prestigious universities. *
Talking to Grief
Ah, Grief, I should not treat you like a homeless dog who comes to the back door for a crust, for a meatless bone. I should trust you.
I should coax you into the house and give you your own corner, a worn mat to lie on, your own water dish.
You think I don't know you've been living under my porch. You long for your real place to be readied before winter comes. You need your name, your collar and tag. You need the right to warn off intruders, to consider my house your own and me your person and yourself my own dog.
The ache of marriage:
thigh and tongue, beloved, are heavy with it, it throbs in the teeth We look for communion and are turned away, beloved, each and each
It is leviathan and we in its belly looking for joy, some joy not to be known outside it
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I pull out my poetry book.....
Date: 2006-03-23 03:18 am (UTC)Talking to Grief
Ah, Grief, I should not treat you
like a homeless dog
who comes to the back door
for a crust, for a meatless bone.
I should trust you.
I should coax you
into the house and give you
your own corner,
a worn mat to lie on,
your own water dish.
You think I don't know you've been living
under my porch.
You long for your real place to be readied
before winter comes. You need
your name,
your collar and tag. You need
the right to warn off intruders,
to consider
my house your own
and me your person
and yourself
my own dog.
The ache of marriage:
thigh and tongue, beloved,
are heavy with it,
it throbs in the teeth
We look for communion
and are turned away, beloved,
each and each
It is leviathan and we
in its belly
looking for joy, some joy
not to be known outside it
two by two in the ark of
the ache of it.
*Women of the Beat Generation by Brenda Knight