The Bride Stripped Bare
I remembered Eliot on our
The white leopards under the juniper tree
And how without a moment's
He shifted conversation to something less sinister
When asked what he had meant.
And you, too, the original runaway bride
Had something to say as you left
me to shadows
That mimicked the terrible whiteness of clowns,
The unutterable fancy of a
That led me straight back to Tristran und Isolde.
In a kind of loving way you had
done me a favour
Although I didn't know that, the one atrocity
The bride stripped bare leaving
me to the silence of a mantra
That hummed and prickled like hot glass:
Shantih shantih shantih.
If you have any comments on this poem, John Cornwall would be pleased to hear from you.