Encounter and Other Poems
Written by Touria Nakkouch
Encounter
There she lies
A still-life dream,
Too early for death to die,
But too late for a love kiss
To bring her back to life.
Meanwhile,
Love's kisses swirl madly about
Quenching their thirst
On the frozen oceans of my desire;
No sooner do I think their burns are healed
Than they run ahead,
Dry thorns on a windy storm,
Constantly catching fire.
"We shan't be silly," she said
When once the odds of life
And, I suppose, some erring muses,
Threw her on my way.
We won't let love's ruses
Lure us inside their madhouse.
While for me she sung,
The ballad of the weary bird
Who sought shelter on Loulou's
Window-sill; the odds of life
And some erring muses, I suppose,
Having thrown him on Loulou's way,
I could see all the yearning
And all the madness in her eyes.
I felt like diving in her seas again,
My European self, fortified
By a thousand-year Reason and
Occasional affairs under
Western and Asian skies,
Crumbling to pieces, seeking
Shelter within her warm,
Wet African wonderland.
Of her I wanted to know all
And yet remember nothing;
So I buried her alive,
Still quivering under the touch
Of my loud masculinity;
There she lies, her beautiful soul
Still, un-quivering, too late
For the Gods to glorify
But too early for humans to save
From the worship of the petty.
Meanwhile,
Love's kisses swirl madly about
Quenching their thirst
On the frozen oceans of my desire.
No sooner do I feel their burns are healed
Than they run ahead,
Dry thorns on a windy storm
Constantly catching fire.
Nut Shelling
On the Atlas Mountains
They sell it unshelled, a nut.
Eager for nuts ourselves
We bought some, fairly fat.
The fatness well admired,
We felt our hunger start;
Hunger grew as we marched
Through soaring winds' piercing dart.
Some kicked the nuts with stone;
Others looked for better art.
I stood to conjecture prone
My reflex échec et mat;
"Fool," said my intuition,
"Look in thy instinct and act!"
So bending reason to action,-
Thought of act being mere part,-
I called to mind Prometheus
And played Prometheus smart.
I put two nuts together
And knocked this against that.
And guess what happen'd, Sir
Shell and nut broke fitly apart!
On her Birthday
Thou twenty-sixth, Day of my beginning
When I consider how I thee have spent,
Fifteen April times triple you're visiting,
I oft doubt I still want to pay your rent.
The days I have rued facing my mirror,
Now Venus-apparelled, now Niobe-bent;
And nights to dull dreams I've sued, in no'ther
Spirit than disown past and own present.
Resolutions I've made before men and God,
At times freshly hued, at times lame and pale,
Were all duly pursued, though few agreed;
Men at me pirates, God denying my sail.
Yet, by love my steady ship takes me 'shore.
Thrice happy me with as many visits more!
A Cup of Poetry
Such an invigorating treat
To be sitting in your lounge
On a quiet afternoon,
To a book of verse to your taste.
My eyes pranced the pages
My mind rode on and on
I pulled up, sipping the tropes
Swallowing the rhyme
The fragrance of exquisite liquor
Filling space and time,
Until it was too late
To go out and get some coffee
For my breakfast the next day.
ŠTouria Nakkouch
