Happy Birthday Paul Muldoon

[cereus]

Paul Muldoon is an Irish poet who is living and working now.

The snail moves like a
Hovercraft, held up by a
Rubber cushion of itself,
Sharing its secret

With the hedgehog. The hedgehog
Shares its secret with no one.
We say, Hedgehog, come out
Of yourself and we will love you.

We mean no harm. We want
Only to listen to what
You have to say. We want
Your answers to our questions.

The hedgehog gives nothing
Away, keeping itself to itself.
We wonder what a hedgehog
Has to hide, why it so distrusts.

We forget the god
under this crown of thorns.
We forget that never again
will a god trust in the world.
Also a Happy Belated-by-almost-a-month Birthday to Walt Whitman

http://www.whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1891/index.html  -  a link to an Online Copy of Leaves of Grass, a large book of his poems.

 

O that you and I escape from the rest and go utterly off, free and
         lawless,
Two hawks in the air, two fishes swimming in the sea not more
         lawless than we...

Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe
         and strong,

The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,

The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off          work,

The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deck-          hand singing on the steamboat deck,

The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing          as he stands,

The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morn-          ing, or at noon intermission or at sundown,

The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work,          or of the girl sewing or washing,

Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,

The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young
         fellows, robust, friendly, ...

SOMETIMES with one I love I fill myself with rage for fear I effuse
         unreturn'd love,

But now I think there is no unreturn'd love, the pay is certain one          way or another,

(I loved a certain person ardently and my love was not return'd,

Yet out of that I have written these songs.)