To the Heart
This poem is in the line
of my attempt
to exorcise the eccentric
demon of anxiety
out of my poetry
out of fear
that in my eagerness
I get out of line.
Look here.
As though we two
were circles
intersecting
like this:
the demon is shown
by the arrow in my circle
from center to circumference
pointing into yours
but not touching the center.
The circumference
of each circle
stands for one’s
boundary of influence
and the center of course
takes the place
of one’s heart
or whatever the heart
is taken to mean.
Mine is taken to you
but the demon has taken it
and then taken after you
drawing me off center
detracting from
I say
the integrity
that I fail
to shelter there.
That’s what I say
but I don’t say
what I mean,
out of my mind.
It’s hard for me
to describe it,
cutting through the surface
from the heart,
but by paring
to essentials
I try to reach
an accord.
The arrow is a sword in me
whose hilt is braced
against my heart
and whose blade
puts stress
on our union.
I don’t mean
to pressure you.
That’s why I’m trying
to calm down
and concentrate
on the line
that my anxiety
is without reason.
I don’t want this demon
that doesn’t balance
an anxiety in you
for me,
nor the artifice
of unwarranted
anticipation.
I feel
that you are forced away
avoiding its distress
which isn’t how
I want you.
I’d rather my poetry
be calm
and full of promise,
engaging
rather than aggressive,
and if our needs are mutual
let it be sympathetic.
20 July 1975