Water makes many beds

Inga Vollmer — Photograph — Alex Waterhouse-Hayward

Water makes many Beds

For those averse to sleep —

Its awful chamber open stands —

Its Curtains blandly sweep —

Abhorrent is the Rest

In undulating Rooms

Whose Amplitude no end invades —

Whose Axis never comes.

Emily Dickinson

Sometime in the 60s I read a poetry review in Time Magazine. It was about a world that was suddenly destroyed by a devastating flood of hot water. The almost delightful poem was all about a person having a tub bath and the destroyed world were the bugs (germs, etc?) in the water. Repeated attempts at finding the poem have gotten me nowhere. For a while I suspected it might have been an Auden poem. But I have found none by him in my searches.
 There is one that does satisfy me and perhaps better accompanies my portrait of Inga Vollmer in her tub.

As a bathtub lined with white porcelain,

When the hot water gives out or goes tepid,

So is the slow cooling of our chivalrous passion,

O my much praised but-not-altogether-satisfactory lady.

Ezra Pound

Link to: Water makes many beds

The viola da gamba

But sequence ravelled out of reach
 A parasol is the umbrella's daughter
 Without the power to die
Lessons on the piny
 Ample make this bed

How happy is the little stone
Sleep is supposed to be
 The shutting of the eye
 I dwell in possibility
when Sappho was a living girl
 In a library
A light exists in spring
 The lady dare not lift her veil
 I took my power in my hand
I find my feet have further goals
 I cannot dance upon my toes
 The Music of the Violin does not emerge alone
 Red Blaze
 He touched me, so I live to know
 Rear Window- The Entering Takes Away
 Said Death to Passion
 We Wear the Mask That Grins And Lies
It was not death for I stood alone
The Music in the Violin Does Not Emerge Alone
I tend my flowers for thee
Lavinia Norcross Dickinson
Pray gather me anemone! 
Ample make her bed 
His caravan of red 
Me-come! My dazzled face 
Develops pearl and weed
But peers beyond her mesh
Surgeons must be very careful
Water is taught by thirst
I could not prove that years had feet
April played her fiddle
A violin in Baize replaced
I think the longest hour
The spirit lasts












Originally published at blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com.