to fold the clothes. No matter who lives
or who dies, I'm still a woman.
I'll always have plenty to do.
I bring the arms of his shirt
together. Nothing can stop
our tenderness. I'll get back
to the poem. I'll get back to being
a woman. But for now
there's a shirt, a giant shirt
in my hands, and somewhere a small girl
standing next to her mother
watching to see how it's done.

Tess Gallagher

à¾×è;Ѻ¼éÒ äÁèÇèÒã¤Ã¨ÐÍÂÙè
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Tess Gallagher

One night you fall asleep with an ungiven kiss
on your lips, you fall asleep in your kiss.
-- Tess Gallagher

TESS GALLAGHER
 

º·¡ÇÕ¢éÒ§µé¹ãªéÀÒÉÒàÃÕº§èÒÂáÅÐà¹×éÍËÒ¹èÒÃÑ¡¹Ñ¡ à»ç¹Ë¹Öè§ã¹º·¡ÇÕã¹â¤Ã§¡Òà Poetry in Motion ¢Í§¹ÔÇÂÍÃì¡ÊѺàÇÂì ·Õè¨ÐàÅ×Í¡º·¡ÇÕÊÑ鹧èÒÂÁÒµÔ´à»ç¹â»ÊàµÍÃìãËé¼Ùéâ´ÂÊÒÃã¹Ã¶ä¿ãµé´Ô¹ÍèÒ¹ ©Ñ¹ÃÙé¨Ñ¡¡ÇÕË­Ô§¼Ùé¹Õ餹áá¡ç´éǺ·¡ÇÕ¹Õé ¨Ò¡Ë¹Ñ§Ê×Í Poetry in Motion (1996: Peacock,Paschen, Neches) ·ÕèÃÇÁº·¡ÇÕÃéͺ·¨Ò¡â¤Ã§¡ÒùÕé

º·¡ÇÕº·¹ÕéÁҨҡ˹ѧÊ×Í Moon Crossing Bridge (1992) ·Õèà¸Íà¢Õ¹ËÅѧ¨Ò¡¡Òèҡ仢ͧÊÒÁÕ´éÇÂâäÁÐàÃç§ã¹»Õ 1988 º·¡ÇÕã¹àÅèÁà¡ÕèÂǡѺ¡ÒÃÊÙ­àÊÕÂáÅФÇÒÁâÈ¡àÈÃéÒ㹡Òèҡ仢ͧ¤¹ÃÑ¡ àÁ×èÍ·ÃÒºàªè¹¹ÕéáÅéÇ¡ÅѺÁÒÍèÒ¹º·¡ÇÕ¹ÕéÍÕ¡¤ÃÑé§ ¡çä´é¤ÇÒÁÃÙéÊÖ¡ã¨ËÒ·Õèµèҧ仨ҡà´ÔÁ ¡ÒÅÒà¡ÍÃìÁռŧҹà¢Õ¹º·¡ÇÕËÅÒÂàÅèÁ ÊÔ觾ÔàÈÉ㹺·¡Çբͧà¸Í¤×Í¡ÒöèÒ·ʹÍÒÃÁ³ìä´éà¢éÁ¢é¹áÅÐÊÑÁ¼ÑÊã¨ä´éÁÕ¾Åѧ ·Ñ駹ÕéÁÔãªèÇèÒà¸Í¨Ðà¢Õ¹¶Ö§¤ÇÒÁ˹ѡ˹èǧºÕº¤Ñé¹ áµèà¸Íà»ç¹¡ÇÕ·ÕèãªéÀÒÉÒ¡Çպ͡¤ÇÒÁÃÙéÊÖ¡ä´é´Õ¹Ñ¡ à¸Íãªé¤Ó§èÒ´ÒÂáµè´éÇÂÈÔÅ»ÐáË觶éÍÂ¤Ó à¸Í·ÓãËé¤ÇÒÁàÃÕº§èÒÂàÃÕ§µÑÇà»ç¹ÁÔµÔ·Ò§ÍÒÃÁ³ì·ÕèÅÖ¡«Öé§ ÍÂèҧ㹺·¡ÇÕ Fable of a Kiss Áյ͹˹Ö觷Õèà¢Õ¹ÇèÒ

I pulled a plum
for her plum tree and took a bite
It was bitter, mixed with
a puzzling unripeness of my own
that made me feel I had lost everything.

"You can sing sweet
and get the song sung
but to get to the third dimension
You have to sing it
rough, hurt the tune a little. Put
enough strength to it
that the notes slip. Then
something else happens. The song
gets large."

Tess Gallagher

"àÃÒÃéͧà¾Å§Íè͹ËÇÒ¹ä´é
áÅк·à¾Å§¡ç¨Ðà»ç¹à¾Å§·Õè¢Ñº¢Ò¹
áµè¡ÒèÐä´éÁÔµÔ·ÕèÊÒÁ
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´Ôºæ ·ÓÃéÒ·èǧ·Ó¹Í§ÊÑ¡¹Ô´ ãÊè
¡ÓÅѧà¢éÒä»à¾Õ§¾Í
ãËéµÑÇâ¹éµËÅØ´Ëŧ áÅéÇ
ÍÐäúҧÍÂèÒ§¨Ðà¡Ô´¢Öé¹ º·à¾Å§
¨Ð¡ÇéÒ§ãË­è"

Tess Gallagher

LITTLE INVITATION IN A HUSHED VOICE

Even birds help
each other. Come
close. Closer.
Help me
            kiss you.
 

INFINITE ROOM

Having lost future with him
I'm fit now to love those
who offer no future when future
is the heart's way of throwing itself away
in time. He gave me all, even
the last marbled instant, and not as excess,
but as if a closed intention were itself
a spring by the roadside
I could put my lips to and be quenched
remembering. So love in a room now
can too easily make me lost
like a child having to hurry home
in darkness, afraid the house
will be empty. Or just afraid.

Tell me again how this is only
for as long as it lasts. I want to be
fragile and true as one who extends
the moment with its death intact,
with her too wise heart
cleaned of that debris we called hope.
Only then can I revisit that last surviving
and know with the wild exactness
of a shattered window what he meant
with all time gone
when he said, "I love you."

Now offer me again
what you thought was nothing.
 

POSTHUMOUS VALENTINE

You want me to know I'm keeping memories
so you unlatch a few. The future's
in there too, badly restrained
like an actress so intently fastened on
her cue: "pocketknife" --she stumbles out
on "doctor's wife" and, mistaken
for the maid, is chased out so as not
to interrupt the kiss. But that's already in
the past. I remember how nicely stingy
they were--streamlining my impromptu
intervals like a serious canoe just
composed enough for two.
 

HIS MOMENT

They burned my bed. Took it high
and burned it, those smoldering angels
so eager to lift my one love from earth.

Now that I sleep on the ground
my bed is everywhere.
Now that I kiss the air
my love goes everywhere.

If his are the only lips,
am I never to be kissed
except as one never-to-be-kissed-again?

Sometimes the dawn sky clings
to itself like that
in the moment just after multitudes of stars
have faded. That's why I love most
the moment when you take your lips away.
 

KISSING THE BLINDMAN

is like kissing the moon
between phases, a kind of larceny
that sweetness one light as it
quenches another. He was halls
and handsomely, a drowned lamp
in my skull, a ship in the mountain,
silk over no shoulder.

Black moon before breath,
I don't kiss you with my mouth only,
but like an ivory hand reaching for dice
thrown across marble.
We roll and roll into the echo's
last chamber.