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    AC Benus
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

The Great Mirror of Same-Sex Love - Poetry - 106. “Broken Images” – Three poems by Robert Graves

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“Broken Images” –

Three poems by Robert Graves

 

 

In Broken Images

 

He is quick, thinking in clear images;

I am slow, thinking in broken images.

 

He becomes dull, trusting to his clear images;

I become sharp, mistrusting my broken images.

 

Trusting his images, he assumes their relevance;

Mistrusting my images, I question their relevance.

 

Assuming their relevance, he assumes the fact;

Questioning the relevance, I question the fact.

 

When the fact fails him, he questions his senses;

When the fact fails me, I approve my senses.

 

He continues quick and dull in his clear images;

I continue slow and sharp in my broken images.

 

He in a new confusion of his understanding;

I in a new understanding of my confusion.

 

 

Full Moon

 

As I walked out that sultry night,

I heard the stroke of One.

The moon, attained to her full height,

Stood beaming like the sun:

She exorcized the ghostly wheat

To mute assent in love’s defeat,

Whose tryst had now begun.

 

The fields lay sick beneath my tread,

A tedious owlet cried,

A nightingale above my head

With this or that replied—

Like man and wife who nightly keep

Inconsequent debate in sleep

As they dream side by side.

 

Your phantom wore the moon’s cold mask,

My phantom wore the same;

Forgetful of the feverish task

In hope of which they came,

Each image held the other’s eyes

And watched a grey distraction rise

To cloud the eager flame—

 

To cloud the eager flame of love,

To fog the shining gate;

They held the tyrannous queen above

Sole mover of their fate,

They glared as marble statues glare

Across the tessellated stair

Or down the halls of state.

And now warm earth was Arctic sea,

 

Each breath came dagger-keen;

Two bergs of glinting ice were we,

The broad moon sailed between;

There swam the mermaids, tailed and finned,

And love went by upon the wind

As though it had not been.

 

 

Despite and Still

 

Have you not read

The words in my head,

And I made part

Of your own heart?

We have been such as draw

The losing straw --

You of your gentleness,

I of my rashness,

Both of despair --

Yet still might share

This happy will:

To love despite and still.

Never let us deny

The thing's necessity,

But, O, refuse

To choose,

Where chance may seem to give

Love in alternative.

—Robert Graves

 

 

_

as noted
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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If you're like me, then you became acquainted with Robert Graves' work in high school. His re-telling of some of the Greek myths was standard reading for generations of students. Sadly for me and generations of students, Graves scrupulously avoided even a word of the many, many ancient myths revolving around same-sex love. He, or his publisher -- or both -- wound up giving a very(!) lopsided view that Greeks were all about boy-girl romance, only. They shut us out on purpose, refusing to let generations of LGBTI2S+ people have any access to our ancient culture.   

However, as a poet, Graves appears rather fearless in detailing the personal pain/pleasure, joy/repression he felt in his love of other men. In Chapter 3 of the Great Mirror, we've already seen one of the several WW1 poems from Graves that explores his passions, and here I provide a few more. 

There are many more Gay poems to be found in his work though, for he was a prolific poet, and as I mention, never very shy when publishing his "personal" poems

 

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30 minutes ago, AC Benus said:

 

If you're like me, then you became acquainted with Robert Graves' work in high school.

 

Indeed, and like many shallow youngsters, I forgot all about him until much, much later. Only in my late life awakening did I hear Graves’ voice as you described it in his poetry. I’m immensely grateful to you for posting these three, as they are magnificent examples. 

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Just now, Parker Owens said:

Indeed, and like many shallow youngsters, I forgot all about him until much, much later. Only in my late life awakening did I hear Graves’ voice as you described it in his poetry. I’m immensely grateful to you for posting these three, as they are magnificent examples. 

Thank you, Parker. There is much to explore in Graves' poetry, including a few "mysterious" erotic poems that can only be deciphered if understood as showing love between men  

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The descriptions of the moon, statues, mermaids, all sharp and clear images.  The contrast in the first one of clear thought and questioning thought is very apt of so much of life.  Thank you for posting these.

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19 minutes ago, ReaderPaul said:

The descriptions of the moon, statues, mermaids, all sharp and clear images.  The contrast in the first one of clear thought and questioning thought is very apt of so much of life.  Thank you for posting these.

Thanks, ReaderPaul. The phallic nature of the ice of their own production seems to jump off the page with the wording:

 

"Each breath came dagger-keen;

Two bergs of glinting ice were we"

 

And clearly, no young woman would be able to wander out to a field in the middle of the night to have sex with a guy in those days. Men had all the freedom of having blind eyes turned to them, and "girls," all the lock-and-key scrutiny of their movements  

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