Read Paterson (Revised Edition) Online
Authors: William Carlos Williams
Only one
Incredible!
Only one I’m interested in
right now
What is he like?
Who?
Your lover
Oh him. He’s married. I
haven’t got a chance with him
You hussy! And what do you do together?
Just talk.
. . . . . .
Phyllis & Paterson
Are you happy
Happy I’ve come?
Happy? No, I’m not happy
Never?
Well .
The couch looks
comfortable
. . . . . .
The Poet
Oh Paterson! Oh married man!
He is the city of cheap hotels and private
entrances . of taxis at the door, the car
standing in the rain hour after hour by
the roadhouse entrance .
Good-bye, dear. I had a wonderful time.
Wait! there’s something . but I’ve forgotten
what it was . something I wanted
to tell you. Completely gone! Completely.
Well, good-bye .
. . . . . .
Phyllis & Paterson
How long can you stay?
Six-thirty . I’ve got
to meet the boy friend
Take off your clothes
No. I’m good at saying that.
She stood
quietly to be undressed .
the buttons were difficult .
This is one of my father’s
best. You ought to have heard
him this morning when I
cut the tails off .
He drew back the white
shirt . slid aside the
ribbons .
Glory be to God .
— then stripped her
and all His Saints!
.
No, just broad shouldered
.
— on the couch, kissing and talking while his
hands explored her body, slowly .
courteously . persistent
.
Be careful .
I’ve got an awful cold
It’s the first
this year. We went
fishing in all
that rain last week
Who? Your father?
— and my boy friend
Fly fishing?
No. Bass. But it isn’t
the season. I know that
but nobody saw us
I got soaked to the skin
Can you fish?
Oh I have a pole and a
line and just fish along
We caught quite a few
. . . . . .
Corydon & Phyllis
Good morning, Phyllis. You are beautiful this morning (in a common sort of way) I wonder if you know how lovely you really are, Phyllis, my little Milk Maid (That’s good! The lucky man!) I dreamt of you last night.
.
A Letter
I don’t care what you say. Unless Mother writes me, herself, that you’ve stopped drinking—and I mean
stopped drinking
—I won’t come home.
.
Corydon
&
Phyllis
What sort of people do you come from, Phyllis?
My father’s a drunk.
That’s more humility than the situation demands. Never be ashamed of your origins.
I’m not. It’s just the truth.
The truth! Virtue, my dear, if one had it! is only interesting in the aggregate, as you will discover . or perhaps you have already found it so. That’s our Christian teaching: not denial but forgiveness, the Prodigal Daughter. Have you ever been to bed with a man?
Have you?
Good shot! With this body? I think I’m more horse than woman. Did you ever see such skin as mine? Speckled like a Guinea hen .
Only
their
speckles are white.
More like a toad, perhaps?
I didn’t say that.
Why not? It’s the truth, my little Oread. Indomitable. Let’s change names. You be Corydon! And I’ll play Phyllis. Young! Innocent! One can fairly hear the pelting of apples and the stomp and clatter of Pan’s hoofbeats. Tantamount to nothing .
. . . . . .
Phyllis & Paterson
Look at us! Why do you
torment yourself?
You think I’m a virgin.
Suppose I told you
I’d had intercourse. What
would you say then?
What would you say? Suppose
I told you that .
She leaned forward in
the half light, close to
his face. Tell
me, what would you say?
Have you had many lovers?
No one who has mauled me
the way you have. Look,
we’re all sweaty .
.
My father’s trying to get me a horse .
.
I went out, once, with a boy
I only knew him a short time
He asked me . .
No, I said, of course not!
He acted so surprised.
Why, he said, most girls
are crazy for it. I
thought they all were .
You ought to have seen
my eyes. I never heard
of such a thing .
.
I don’t know why I can’t give myself to you. A man like you should have everything he wants . I guess I care too much, that’s the trouble .
. . . . . .
Corydon & Phyllis
Phyllis, good morning. Could you stand a drink at this early hour? I’ve written you a poem . and the worst is, I’m about to read it to you . You don’t have to like it. But, hell take it, you damn well better listen to it. Look at me shake! Or better, let me give you a short one, to begin with:
If I am virtuous
condemn me
If my life is felicitous
condemn me
The world is
iniquitous
Mean anything?
Not much.
Well, here’s another:
You dreamy
Communist
where are you
going?
To world’s end
Via?
Chemistry
Oh oh oh oh
That will
really
be the end .
you
dreamy Communist
won’t it?
Together
together
“With that she split her girdle.” Gimme another shot. I always fell on my face when I wanted to step out. But here goes! Here it is. This is what I’ve been leading up to. It’s called,
Corydon, a Pastoral.
We’ll skip the first part, about the rocks and sheep, begin with the helicopter. You remember that?
. . drives the gulls up in a cloud
Um . no more woods and fields. Therefore
present, forever present
. a whirring pterodactyl
of a contrivance, to remind one of Da Vinci,
searches the Hellgate current for some corpse,
lest the gulls feed on it
and its identity and its sex,
as
its hopes, and its
despairs and its moles and its marks and
its teeth and its nails be no longer decipherable
and so lost .
therefore present,
forever present .
The gulls, vortices of despair, circle and give
voice to their wild responses until the thing
is gone . then, ravening, having scattered
to survive, close again upon the focus,
the bare stones, three harbor stones, except
for that . useless
unprofaned .
It stinks!
If this were rhyme, Sweetheart
such rhyme as might be made
jaws would hang open .
But the measure of it is the thing . None
can wish for an embellishment
and keep his mind lean,
fit for action .
such action as I plan
— to turn my hand up and hold
it open, to the rain .
of their deaths
that I brood . and find none ready
but mine own .
Nuts! After that, how about a story that’s a little
recherché
, a little strong? To hide my embarrassment? O.K.?
Sure.
Skip it.
A ring is round
but cannot bind
though it may bound
a lover’s mind
Phyllis, I think I’m quite well now . . How would you like to go fishing with me somewhere? You like to fish .
Can I bring my father?
No, you can’t bring your father. You’re a big girl now. A month with me, in the woods! I have a concession. Don’t answer at once. You’ve never been to Anticosti . ?
What’s it like, pizza?
Phyllis, you’re a bad girl. Let me go on with my poem
. . . . . .
Dear Pappy:
How yuh doin’? Are you behaving? because she wants me to go fishing with her. For a month! What do you say? You’d like that.
Is that so? Well, you know where you can get off at. And don’t think you can start coming in here. Because if you do I’ll
never
go home. And you
haven’t stopped drinking!
Don’t try to kid me.
Alright, if you think I’m in danger then learn to behave yourself. Are you a weakling or something? But I won’t go through all that again. Never. Don’t worry, as I told you, I can take care of myself. And if anything happens me, so what? Blame it on I’ve got a father who is a drunk.
Your daughter
P.
. . . . . .
Phyllis & Paterson
This dress is sweaty. I’ll have
to have it cleaned
It lifted past the shoulders.
Under it, her stockings
Big thighs .
.
Let us read, said the King
lightly. Let us
redivagate, said the Queen
even more lightly
and without batting an eye
.
He took her nipples
gently in his lips. No
I don’t like it
. . . . . .
Corydon & Phyllis
You remember where we left off? At the entrance to the 45th Street tunnel . Let’s see
. houses placarded:
Unfit for human habitation etc etc
Oh yes .
Condemned .
But who has been condemned . where the tunnel
under the river starts?
Voi ch’entrate
revisited! Under ground, under rock, under river
under gulls . under the insane .
. the traffic is engulfed and disappears .
to emerge . never
A voice calling in the hubbub (Why else
are there newspapers, by the cart-load?) blaring
the news no wit shall evade, no rhyme
cover. Necessity gripping the words . scouting
evasion, that love is begrimed, befouled .
I’d like to spill the truth, on that one.
Why don’t you?
This is a POEM!
begrimed
yet lifts its head, having suffered a sea-change!
shorn of its eyes and its hair
its teeth kicked out . a bitter submersion
in darkness . a gelding, not to be
listed . to be made ready! fit to
serve (vermin trout, that eat the salmon eggs,
gaze up through the dazzle . in glass
necklaces . picturesque peasant stuff
without value) . pulp
While in the tall
buildings (sliding up and down) is where
the money’s made
up and down
directed missiles
in the greased shafts of the tall buildings .
They stand torpid in cages, in violent motion
unmoved
but alert!
predatory minds, un-
affected
UNINCONVENIENCED
unsexed, up
and down (without wing motion) This is how
the money’s made . using such plugs.
At the
sanitary lunch hour packed woman to
woman (or man to woman, what’s the difference?)
the flesh of their faces gone
to fat or gristle, without recognizable
outline, fixed in rigors, adipose or sclerosis
expressionless, facing one another, a mould
for all faces (canned fish) this .
Move toward the back, please, and face the door!
is how the money’s made,
money’s made
pressed together
talking excitedly . of the next sandwich .
reading, from one hand, of some student, come
waterlogged to the surface following
last night’s thunderstorm . the flesh a
flesh of tears and fighting gulls .
Oh I could cry!
cry upon your young shoulder for what I know.
I feel so alone .
. . . . . .
Phyllis & Paterson
I think I’ll go on the stage,
said she, with a deprecating laugh,
Ho, ho!
Why don’t you? he replied
though the legs, I’m afraid, would
beat you .
. . . . . .
Corydon & Phyllis
. with me, Phyllis
(I’m no Simaetha) in all your native loveliness
that these spiked rumors may not tear
that sweet flesh
It sounds as tho’ I wanted to eat you, I’ll have to change that.
Come with me to Anticosti, where the salmon
lie spawning in the sun in the shallow water
I think that’s Yeats .
— and we shall fish for the salmon fish
No, I think
that’s
the Yeats .
— and its silver
shall be our crest and guerdon (what’s a guerdon?)
drawn struggling .
Believe me, some tussle!
from the icy water .
I wish you’d come, dear, I’ve got my yacht all stocked and ready. Let me take you on a tour . of Paradise!
That
I’d like to see.
Then why not come?
I’m not ready to die yet, not even for that.