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Sonnet 18

John Berryman

You, Chris, contrite I never thought to see,
Whom nothing fazes, no crise can disconcert,
Who calm cross crises all year, flouting, alert,
A reckless lady, in whom alone agree
Of bristling states your war and peace; only
Your knuckle broke with smashing objects, curt
Classic dislike, your flowing love, expert
Flat stillness on hot sand, display you wholly.

...And can you do what you are sorry for?...
'I'll pin you down and put a biscuit on you'
Your childhood hissed: you didn't: just this side
Idolatry, I cannot see you sor-
ry, darling, no! what other women do
And lie or weep for, flash in your white stride.

Submitted by Holt

Added: 1 Mar 2004 | Last Read: 19 Dec 2018 9:22 AM | Viewed: 4175 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/9200/ | Viewed on 19 December 2018.
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