Published on Academy of American Poets (https://poets.org)


Words for Departure

Nothing was remembered, nothing forgotten.
When we awoke, wagons were passing on the warm summer pavements,
The window-sills were wet from rain in the night,
Birds scattered and settled over chimneypots
As among grotesque trees.

Nothing was accepted, nothing looked beyond.
Slight-voiced bells separated hour from hour,
The afternoon sifted coolness
And people drew together in streets becoming deserted.
There was a moon, and light in a shop-front,
And dusk falling like precipitous water.

Hand clasped hand,
Forehead still bowed to forehead—
Nothing was lost, nothing possessed,
There was no gift nor denial.

2.

I have remembered you.
You were not the town visited once,
Nor the road falling behind running feet.

You were as awkward as flesh
And lighter than frost or ashes.

You were the rind,
And the white-juiced apple,
The song, and the words waiting for music.

3.

You have learned the beginning;
Go from mine to the other.

Be together; eat, dance, despair,
Sleep, be threatened, endure.
You will know the way of that.

But at the end, be insolent;
Be absurd—strike the thing short off;
Be mad—only do not let talk
Wear the bloom from silence.

And go away without fire or lantern.
Let there be some uncertainty about your departure.

Credit


This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on March 29, 2020 by the Academy of American Poets. 

About this Poem


“Words for Departure” originally appeared in Body of This Death (McBride & Company, 1923).

Author


Louise Bogan

Louise Bogan was born in Livermore Falls, Maine, in 1897. She is the author of several books of prose and poetry, and was the first woman to hold the position of Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress. The recipient of a 1968 fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts, Bogan died in 1970.

Date Published: 1923-01-01

Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/words-departure