Sonnet of Ice
Ingenuous dreamer — your golden beliefs
Do not destroy them, let destiny
Carry you in your baby cradle,
For you may lose this treasure.
Belief is a beacon. You do not seek it,
But how well you see it, shining toward the infinite! …
And the man of thought, — a reprobate,
Searching out light in vain — is always in darkness.
I myself seek faith, and do not have it,
— a skiff’s wreckage — I longed for an oar,
So as not to sink into endless night,
God, the same God who made you believe…
You’ll never know how that omnipotent God
Was the one that swept away my belief.
It was a day of useless agonies
It was a day of useless agonies
Sunny day, bathed in sun!
Cold swords shine naked…
Sunny day, bathed in sun!
It was a day of false joys.
Dahlia’s stripping, — her soft smile…
Throngs of pilgrims return.
Dahlia’s stripping, — her soft smile…
An idle day, more so than others.
So clear, so pale, so clear!
Diffuse of theorems, of theories…
The futile day, more so than others!
Minuet of circumspect ironies…
So clear, so pale, so clear!
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Ian Watts is a descendent of Portuguese sugar cane workers and paniola from Maui and Hawai’i. He is translating the poetry of Camilo Pessanha and writing a novel about Lisbon. He lives in New Jersey with his wife, son, dog, and two cats.