Secret Poem

after Seferis

Yes. I have seen the end, and yes,
I was disturbed by what I saw.
That I yet glimpse occasional
and frankly stirring satisfactions
in the way the paper draws the ink
may prove one mode of consolation.

That I continue to appreciate
a morning walk, an evening’s
intercourse should also speak
encouragement, no? The end
appalls. Quite so. Though I wouldn’t say
the end appalls more fully

than the interim. The present
situation—electoral
absurdity, real TV, unprovoked
slaughter thoroughly explained—such
assaults attain a state insisting
that the end arrive, and quickly.

The past is ever with us, but most
have pared it to a less demanding
heft, utilitarian. For me, the past
has become lately my own
articulation of that scene
I saw, just now, as very like the end.