R.S. Thomas, H’m: poems, “Acting” (1972)
Being unwise enough to have married her
I never knew when she was not acting.
‘I love you’ she would say; I heard the audiences
sigh. ‘I hate you’; I could never be sure
they were still there. She was lovely. I
was only the looking-glass she made up in.
I husbanded the rippling meadow
of her body. Their eyes grazed nightly upon it.
Alone now on the brittle platform
of herself she is playing her last rôle.
It is perfect. Never in all her career
was she so good. And yet the curtain
has fallen. My charmer, come out from behind
it to take the applause. Look, I am clapping too.
Insomniac passing anhypnic nights in writing, translation, music, mathematics, programming and whatever else captures my attention or alleviates agrypnia.
This consists mostly of quotations of things that stand out to me or reflect what's on my mind; occasionally I also post original, often more personal, content as well, which may be found under the "personal" tag. Anything posted under "translations" is also original work and may broadly be taken as personal as well as I seldom tackle a work that does not speak to or for me in some way.