Dear Susanne,
It is impossible for me to attend your recital at the garden fete as I
live in Ithaca, New York. My lack of a suit, decent or otherwise, would
in any case inhibit my attendance. I appreciate the invitation
nonetheless and if you can imagine yourself as Elizabeth Bishop and me as
Marianne Moore and Elizabeth Bishop's enthusiasm sparking Marianne
Moore's equally enthusiastic response which propels her
Manhattanward as truly as the wind from the east carries Mary Poppins at
the Banks' door, then that will give you some idea of the alacrity with
which I would attend the garden fete did not 4,000 miles and suit problems
intervene.
All the best,
Mairead
INVITATION TO MISS MARIANNE MOORE
>From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning,
please come flying.
In a cloud of fiery pale chemicals,
please come flying,
to the rapid rolling of thousands of small blue drums
descending out of the mackerel sky
over the glittering grandstand of harbor-water,
please come flying.
Whistles, pennants and smoke are blowing. The ships
are signalling cordially with multitudes of flags
rising and falling like birds all over the harbor.
Enter: two rivers, gracefully bearing
countless little pellucid jellies
in cut-glass epergnes dragging with silver chains.
The flight is safe; the weather is all arranged.
The waves are running in verses this fine morning.
Please come flying.
Come with the pointed toe of each black shoe
trailing a sapphire highlight,
with a black capeful of butterfly wings and bon-mots,
with heaven knows how many angels all riding
on the broad black brim of your hat,
please come flying.
Bearing a musical inaidible abacus,
a slight censorious frown, and blue ribbons,
please come flying.
Facts and skyscrapers glint in the tide; Manhattan
is all awash with morals this fine morning,
so please come flying.
Mounting the sky with natural heroism,
above the accidents, above the malignant movies,
the taxicabs and injustices at large, while horns are resounding in your
beautiful ears
that simultaneously listen to
a soft uninvented music, fit for the musk deer,
please come flying.
For whom the grim museums will behave
like courteous male bower-birds,
for whom the agreeable lions lie in wait
on the steps of the Public Library,
eager to rise and follow through the doors
up into the reading rooms,
please come flying.
We can sit down and weep; we can go shopping,
or play at a game of constantly being wrong
with a priceless set of vocabularies,
or we can bravely deplore, but please
please come flying.
With dynasties of negative constructions
darkening and dying around you,
with grammar that suddenly turns and shines
like flocks of sandpipers flying,
please come flying.
Come like a light in the white mackerel sky,
come like a daytime comet
with a long unnebulous train of words,
from Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning,
please come flying.
Elizabeth Bishop, The Complete Poems, 1927-1979, FSG, NY 1989.
On Thu, 6 Jul 2000, susanne wrote:
> Mairead.
>
> Don't tell me! I fully agree with you!
> I think Plath was a highbrow and NOT AT ALL a miserable individual! She was
> assertive and very productive.
>
> Funny, though, how the world goes in a marry-go-round. And here it comes
> again the beginning of the end.
>
> Until someone will get annoyed or disturbed
> and will start addressing silly messages to this and that,
> an action for which he will have to repent.
>
> Since everything
> can be recorded. Especially in literary matters.
>
> The eternal return of the identical. Today, I am blind.
> I looked for a long time at the sun until I decided it was noxious.
> And here it comes someone who is
> able to reestablish an order. I have more than once upset a whole Cafe' by
> laughing.
> Which in my language was weeping.
>
> For all that I've said, your letter has to be regarded as exclusively
> addressed to ALLY.
> Here is a more reasonable request. I am singing at a garden fete on Friday
> and if you have a decent suit just come.
> I don't understand the world the world rightly does not understand me.
> Me and you, we do not understand each other.
> The language does not serve its job.
> I shall call to say farewell and adieu.
> (incommunicability continues to flourish)
> You will oblige me very much if you will write to me and tell what you
> think.
> I shall read your letter with great anxiety
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