Poem a day for 13 April 2018: The book of cats

Today's rescued poem was another challenging one, with few personal pronouns, and not many useful verbs. And of course when I wanted a plural noun there was only a singular, and vice versa – I don't even bend the rescuing rules to allow an 's' or 'es' to be added on or removed from a word to suit the poem.

I also should point out that the rescue applies even to the poem title, so the words in all rescued poem titles also come from the source texts.

Just as I was about to publish this post I realised that today is Friday the 13th, which makes the title rather appropriate (in a distantly superstitious kind of way).

This poem shimmied out from pages 109 and 31 of The Devourers and Marie Tarnowska respectively, both by Annie Vivanti Chartres.


The book of cats

I married my duke
and he terrifies me
with poems and pearls and smiles.
He said I was a bewitching creature
but I blew out the candle:
the mirrors hate me.
Sleep is a gossamer scarf somewhere beyond me.
I feel the universe, unending and great
behind my sleek head.
Just this evening
eleven angels kissed my cheek
and the stars waved at me and laughed.
I know the nothingness of space
and the neverness of time.
Why would he not want me?
Why would I want him?

Posted by Jennifer Liston