John Ashbery

He Who Loves and Runs Away


The bad news is the ship hasn't arrived;
the good news is it hasn't left yet.
It is still being loaded by natives with cone-shaped
hats on their heads.  Here come the transistors,
bananas, durian (a fruit said to have a noxious smell),
baby bottles, photocopiers, and souvenirs,
such glorious ones!  Nothing useful except key-chains,
lockets to be furnished, a ball to stuff with life.

Yet it's hard not to imagine the loss.
I think, though I can't be sure,
that all this is being added to my bill.
Woe betide us!  We shall never pay,
though, not in a million years.
Everything is promise.

Too late we acted outside the rhymes required,
honest, God-fearing, ass-wearing blokes
eager to accept the hand that fate had dealt us
and play with it.  Now, brown sorrow is the correct
livery for when we go out.  It's important to
find a copy of the reproduction and send
or sell it back to them, "and with milk."
That was the nicest thing about them, happy birthday.

For it you got a mandate?
Because I like it better, here, near the core.
You are sitting on the sofa.
Have a glass of something.
You will hear a city.



catalog