Betrayal -- A S J Tessimond

Guest poem sent in by Roberta Sutton

(Poem #1155) Betrayal If a man says half himself in the light, adroit Way a tune shakes into equilibrium, Or approximates to a note that never comes: Says half himself in the way two pe! ncil-lines Flow to each other and softly separate, In the resolute way plane lifts and leaps from plane: Who knows what intimacies our eyes may shout, What evident secrets daily foreheads flaunt, What panes of glass conceal our beating hearts? -- A S J Tessimond

I wish that the title, “Betrayal”, came at the end of this poem, if at all.
The word is quickly associated with fury and shame (something about feeling
mistaken and foolish for sharing so much with another instead of being
recognized and enlightened). The poem is too beautiful to be disposed so
quickly as a melancholy work or a void. In fact, the betrayal spoken of here
is not perjury as much as it is a deeper betrayal. These lines are examples
of sad incompletes, denials of the truth, the quest for absolute and the
effort to express them as a person in love or a person to themselves. Love
is the best opportunity to try these life lessons. This is the best poem
I've seen on a difficult topic; this voice is sweet while remembering the
beauty of love and its potential rather than the bitter remedy of loss,
vengefulness. It does not mourn what was missing or lost; it celebrates what
can be. Not an Anti-Valentines’ Day poem, after all (though, happily, this
is a poem about the stride for authenticity for the single and the coupled).

Roberta

Cats -- A S J Tessimond

Guest poem submitted twice in quick succession, by Gerry Roweand Leoni Burke :

(Poem #1010) Cats Cats no less liquid than their shadows Offer no angles to the wind. They slip, diminished, neat through loopholes Less than themselves; will not be pinned To rules or routes for journeys; counter Attack with non-resistance; twist Enticing through the curving fingers And leave an angered empty fist. They wait obsequious as darkness Quick to retire, quick to return; Admit no aim or ethics; flatter With reservations; will not learn To answer to their names; are seldom Truly owned till shot or skinned. Cats no less liquid than their shadows Offer no angles to the wind. -- A S J Tessimond

[Leoni's comments]

I learnt this poem when I was a child for my elocution class.  You should
really read it aloud as the words slither and twist just like a cat in
motion. It's one of the best descriptive poems about cats that I've ever
read.

[Gerry's comments]

The couplet with which this poem opens and closes contains a pair of images
beautifully contrived to convey the morally, emotionally and physically
elusive feline nature. The lines that fall between the opening and closing
are slightly more down-to-earth but have two great virtues: firstly they
scan and rhyme very pleasingly; secondly they consist of a list of terse
descriptive statements of such evident or near-as-dammit truth that you read
each one off with growing admiration for the poet's powers of observation
and expression.

This is my favourite cat poem because, apart from being beautifully written,
it is unsentimental and relatively free of the anthropomorphic tendency,
just full of shrewd respect for an animal that appears incapable of losing
its dignity and right to self determination in any relationship with a human
even, perhaps especially, with a person claiming to be its 'owner'.

I'm afraid I know nothing of A.S.J. Tessimond. I came across another of his
or her cat poems that wasn't as good but for me this one stands alone above
all others on the theme.