Hispanic and Indigenous American poet Natalie Diaz
Grief Work
Why not go toward the things I love?
I have walked slow in the garden
of her—: gazed the black flower
dilating her animal-
eye
I give up my sorrows
the way a bull gives it horns—: astonished,
and wishing there is rest
in the body’s softest parts.
Like Jacob’s angel, I touched the garnet
of her hip,
and she knew my name,
and I knew hers—:
it was Auxocromo, it was Cromofóro,
it was Eliza.
When the eyes and lips are brushed with honey
what is seen and said will never be the same,
so why not take the apple
in your mouth—:
in flames, in pieces, straight
from the knife’s sharp edge?
Achilles chased Hector round the walls
of Ilium three times—: how long must I circle
the high gate
between her hip and knee
to solve the red-gold geometry
of her thigh?
Again the gods put their large lands in me,
move me, break my heart
like a clay jug of wine, loosen a beast
from some darklong depth.
My melancholy is hoofed.
I, the terrible beautiful
Lampon, a shining devour-horse tethered
at the bronze manger of her collarbones.
I do my grief work
with her body—:
labor to make the emerald tigers
in her throat leap,
lead them burning green to drink
from the deep-violet jetting her breast.
We go where there is love,
to the river, on our knees beneath the sweet
water. I pull her under four times,
until we are rivered.
We are rearranged.
I wash the silk and silt of her from my hands—:
now who I come to, I come clean to,
I come good to.
Natalie Diaz from Postcolonial Love Poem, Graywolf Press, 2020
A friend of mine responded to my post on Natalie Diaz yesterday by saying my featured poem reminded her so much of another favorite poem of her whose author she couldn’t remember. As she started to read her poem I realized it was Grief Work by Natalie Diaz published in 2015! What I didn’t realize was how that poem was revised in her newly released book Postcolonial Love Poem.
Here below is the original version of the poem that my friend so cherishes. And it includes a few of her favorite lines which didn’t make it through the revision process, especially this line: Eve took the apple in that ache-opened mouth. And I must say I miss the first two lines of the original! The use of different language grabs my attention right away. The great sound of those words.
But regardless of the version what a great and stirring love poem with Natalie’s use of rich and resonant language.Like Jacob’s angel, I touched the garnet of her hip,…Achilles chased Hector round the walls/ of Ilium three times—: how long must I circle/ the high gate/ between her hip and knee/ to solve the red-gold geometry of her thigh? …. My melancholy is hoofed./ I, the terrible beautiful /Lampon, a shining devour-horse tethered/ at the bronze manger of her collarbones./ I do my grief work/ with her body—:
Grief Work
I have gazed the black flower blooming
her animal eye. Gacela oscura. Negra llorona.
Along the clayen banks I follow her-astonished,
gathering grief’s petals she lets fall like horns.
Why not now go toward the things I love?
Like Jacob’s angel, I touched the garnet of her wrist,
and she knew my name. And I knew hers—
it was Auxocromo, it was Cromóforo, it was Eliza.
It hurtled through me like honeyed-rum.
When the eyes and lips are touched with honey
what is seen and said will never be the same.
Eve took the apple in that ache-opened mouth,
on fire and in pieces, from the knife’s sharp edge.
In the photo her fist presses against the red-gold
geometry of her thigh. Black nylon, black garter,
unsolvable mysterium—I have to close my eyes to see.
Achilles chasing Hektor round the walls of Ilium
three times. How long must I circle
the high gate above her knees?
Again the gods put their large hands in me,
move me, break my heart like a clay jar of wine,
loosen a beast from some darklong depth—
my melancholy is hoofed. I, the terrible beautiful
Lampon, a shining devour-horse tethered
at the bronze manger of her collarbones.
I do my grief work with her body—labor
to make the emerald tigers in her hips leap,
lead them burning green
to drink from the violet jetting her.
We go where there is love, to the river,
on our knees beneath the sweet water.
I pull her under four times
until we are rivered. We are rearranged.
I wash the silk and silt of her from my hands—
now who I come to, I come clean to, I come good to.
Natalie Diaz from Poem-a-Day on April 21, 2015, by the Academy of American Poets.