Desk
1

My desk, most loyal friend
thank you. You've been with me on
every road I've taken.
My scar and my protection.

My loaded writing mule.
Your tough legs have endured
the weight of all my dreams, and
burdens of piled-up thoughts.

Thank you for toughening me.
No worldly joy could pass
your severe looking-glass
you blocked the first temptation,

and every base desire
your heavy oak outweighed
lions of hate, elephants
of spite you intercepted.

Thank you for growing with me
as my need grew in size
I've been laid out across you
so many years alive

while you've grown broad and wide
and overcome me. Yes,
however my mouth opens
you stretch out limitless.

You've nailed me to your wood.
I'm glad. To be pursued.
And torn up. At first light.
To be caught. And commanded:

Fugitive. Back to your chair!
I'm glad you've guarded me
and bent my life away
from blessings that don't last,

as wizards guide sleep walkers!
My battles burn as signs.
You even use my blood to set out
all my acts in lines—

in columns, as you are a pillar
of light. My source of power!
You lead me as the Hebrews once
were led forward by fire.

Take blessings now from me,
as one put to the test, on
elbows, forehead, knotted knees,
your knife edge to my breast.

2

I celebrate thirty years
of union truer than love
I know every notch in your wood.
You know the lines in my face.

Haven't you written them there?
devouring reams of paper
denying me any tomorrow
teaching me only today.

You've thrown my important letters
and money in floods together,
repeating: for every single verse
today has to be the deadline.

You've warned me of retribution
not to be measured in spoonfulls.
And when my body will be laid out,
Great fool! Let it be on you then.

3

The rest of you can eat me up
I just record your behaviour!
For you they'll find dining tables
to lay you out. This desk for me!

Because I've been happy with little
there are foods I've never tasted.
The rest of you dine slowly.
Ypu've eaten too much and too often.

Places are already chosen
long before birth for everyone.
The place of adventure is settled,
and the places of gratification.

Truffles for you not pencils.
Pickles instead of dactyls
and you express your pleasure
in belches and not in verses.

At your head funeral candles
must be thick-legged asparagus:
surely your road from this world
will cross a dessert table!

Let's puff Havana tobacco
on either side of you then;
and let your shrouds be made
from the finest of Dutch linen.

And so as not to waste such
fine cloth let them shake you
with left-overs and crumbs
into the grave that waits for you

Your souls at the post mortem
will be like stuffed capons.
But I shall be there naked
with only two wings for cover.

1933-5