Wednesday, December 2, 2009

William Keens: Stone


Camille Claudel ended her liaison with Rodin after fifteen years, but was unable to forget him. She would come to Meudon and crouch in the roadside undergrowth to watch him pass.

When I was stone my flesh again

turned in his hands.
I held my breath before his face
and it was good, his hands, that stone,
the women of me that he made,
In their faces, mine; my breasts
my limbs, my hands,
this crease and vein.
His was a way almost witchcraft:
touch the stone, the stone breathes.
Maker! so many times of me.

And if the night took hold

I dreamed of them.
Dreaming, I rose, put on my shawl;
dreaming, let my body go.
Those nights they watched me cross the garden,
open the door, stand before them.
"This is my face." I touch the stone.
"This is my face." The stone lips speak.
Dreaming, I stand in the dark room
that smells of their dust
and call my name.
So many voices answer: "Here I am she."

These days without end

in the tall weeds.
crouched in the grass,
surely stone.
He will not know me
from his work, if I am still.

If I am, still.

These days in the grass
of the yellow slope,
watching all day for a glimmer of my maker.
My eyes lock, my body locks:
surely I am stone.
Whatever flesh now belongs to them,

I drag my heavy body down to sleep

among the stalks and yellow wildflowers.
Sweet maker, hear my prayer: that love was good.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Auguste_Rodin

7 comments:

Alex Robinson said...

wow that was powerful & passionate - what a lot of raw emotion - does that still exist I wonder? Thanks for that :)

I hope you are having a wonderful day my friend xx

Ricardo said...

Well I will lose dude points for saying this but that was a lovely selection of poetry.

Devin said...

Alex and Ricardo thanks so much for your comments on this -I thought it was beautiful too -and don't worry Ricardo you won't lose any "dude points" with me anyway:-) for saying so -in fact I just found this the other day and just adored it
sorry alex that it took so long to get your comment here-back pain opened a can of "whoop ass" on me again today and was in bed til 730 when the pain died down enough so i could at least move
all the best in the world to both of you and i will try to get by your blogs tonight/morning

X. Dell said...

I've been Mme. Claudel in this life.

Devin said...

You know Xdell-I was thinking that same thing when I posted this with my very last relationship!!
the very man who called me tonight wanting something I have -but not what he used to want -haha sorry that sounds a bit clumsy to say the least
I guess i shouldnt say this -but sometimes it is nice to know one isn't alone in a specific situation-but it is prob not nice for me to think "company" is good to have in this as we all know it can hurt so very much to say the least!!
all the best to you my friend and if you have done anything new i will try to get to it in a day or two-i was gonna go all out on some projects i had going for blogs and promptly caught a cold so i have basically been in bed the last two and a half days -except to stretch my back and excercise it slightly so it doesn't go out too-thats all i need after this is to have one of my "completely immobile" days because of damn back pain
all the best and really am hugely enjoying your new series!!!

Bill said...

Dear Colleagues: It has been almost 40 years sincI wrote "Stone" and I am pleased that it has won oner ita own audience..beyond the readers and editors of The New Americqn Review.

I hope that everyone will visie The Poetry Ark on January 1st or thereafter when a friend (Brian Lemond) and I are starting a one-year experiment dedicated to finding and publishing 100 great poems in English by living autHors. Pass the word.

In the meantime, I am nearing publication of a limited edition of 26 poems. Here is the fiirst in the colection Enjoy!

FOR CAROLINE

At day's end, swans
Like ciphers on a green page,
Light-shadow-light,
Swimming in tributaries of shade.

From a lifetime's distance
This may seem small, pathetic -
the secret genetic
Code of wild mustard,
Paroxysms of dogwood in an overgrown glade.

In such fields we sae
Only fields of possibility,
Room to breathe, the pure oxygen
Of love's early years.

Now we are here, arrived together,
Oblique as light
Over the swaying weedheads,
Deep into the deepening day.

William Keens

Devin said...

Dear Bill,
I am so glad you came by and commented on your poem!!
thanks for the new one too-it is also beautiful -I had many people tell me they loved "Stone" (most who read my blog are friends who don't comment) or relatives.

I have recently "won" a disability case-and I should have some money by March or April -and I would like to buy your new collection -and also some copies for my mom and a friend who loved "Stone"
I will put "For Caroline" at the top of the page tonight on my blog-thank you so very much-and all the best for a wonderful 2010-and thanks so much for "For Caroline" too-it is also beautiful work!!