When you tell me that you were unpopular as a child…

Roman Elegy VIII
Goethe
(trans. David Ferry)

When you tell me that you were unpopular as a child,
and that your mother spoke of you in a rueful

tone of voice, and that all of this seemed to go on
for a very long time, the slow time that it took

for you to grow up, I believe you, and I enjoy
thinking about that odd, awkward child.

The grapevine flower, you know, is nothing much,
but the ripened fruit gives pleasure to men and gods.

The Secrets of A. Roger

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago,
before there were lamps, before there were phones,
when the night-light was the moon, or the pale
ineffectual flicker of candles,
bedtime, supposedly, fell at dusk.
Today, blizzards leave us huddled inside,
imagining how alone we are, like
everybody else. Then, it was every night
externally imposed isolation.
What man can fight the dark? And so they slept.
Mostly. And woke halfway through the night,
to roll over, to fuck, to remember
the murky dreams they carried through the dusk,
to waste wasting hours waiting for the sun.

Acquainted with the Night

Acquainted with the Night

Robert Frost, 1936

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right
I have been one acquainted with the night.