Saturday's Poem(s): Two by John Ciardi

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Because this week contained both Valentine's Day and the gift from a friend of a fragrant tuberose bouquet that is still casting its spell in my kitchen, here are two fine poems of love and flowers by John Ciardi.

An Italian-American, Ciardi was born in Boston's Little Italy, and was a teacher, a translator, and a poet of eloquence and clarity.  I've always been fond of his work. He died in 1986. 

The Day of the Peonies

This is the day of the peonies.

My daughter in the spell of an abundance that can't last

filled every bowl and vase in the house with water and mounded the day pink.

When I came to breakfast my transformed toast and coffee were body and blood of the flowering altar.

"The Times shall not intrude on what this is," I read from the intro and threw it to yesterday.

One petal shed into my cup.

"I have my good and know it,"I acknowledged, a service for the dead;

spooned out the pink omen and drank the waft of feasted day, half holy and half daft.

             _____

The Aging Lovers

Why would they want one another,

those two old crocks of habit up

heavy from the stale bed?

Because we are not visible where we dance,

though a word none hears can call us to the persuasion of kindness, and there sing.