THREE POEMS
The Good Author
for Bernard Malamud Contrary to the views A few days earlier Of a fading Irish poet Who flared into the room With Rimbaud round his shoulder But with hair and spirit Receding, too much the wise Predator not to know it
You told us to be good
Meaning, pure in spirit, To strive for purity.
'Oh, play as much as you like! But remember that an author Is one who labcFurs daily Putting words to paper, Not a man who wrote a book,' You concluded, quietly, gravely.
• We were aware as we walked Through the campus in the snow Of a game of hare and hound : We found him chasing her In tighter and tighter circles, The innocent one flying From wily nose and jaws, Then he cracked the diameter, And the only rule she knew To plunge her to the ground We could not save her, nor Quickly enough turn away, Fist over ears, lids clenched From the brilliant agony. And now your calm tones linger, gut tinctured with her cry. Though I shall not wed the image To any word you say.
CAROLYN KIZER
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