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Randall Jarrell - A Man Meets A Woman In The Street
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Under the separated leaves of shade 
Of the gingko, that old tree 
That has existed essentially unchanged 
Longer than any other living tree, 
I walk behind a woman. Her hair`s coarse gold 
Is spun from the sunlight that it rides upon. 
Women were paid to knit from sweet champagne 
Her second skin: it winds and unwinds, winds 
Up her long legs, delectable haunches, 
As she sways, in sunlight, up the gazing aisle. 
The shade of the tree that is called maidenhair, 
That is not positively known 
To exist in a wild state, spots her fair or almost fair 
Hair twisted in a French twist; tall or almost tall, 
She walks through the air the rain has washed, a clear thing 
Moving easily on its high heels, seeming to men 
Miraculous...Since I can call her, as Swann couldn`t 
A woman who is my type, I follow with the warmth 
Of familiarity, of novelty, this new 
Example of the type, 
Reminded of how Lorenz`s just-hatched goslings 
Shook off the last remnants of the egg 
And, looking at Lorenz, realized that Lorenz 
Was their mother. Quaking, his little family 
Followed him everywhere; and when they met a goose, 
Their mother, they ran to him afraid. 


Imprinted upon me 
Is the shape I run to, the sweet strange 
Breath-taking contours that breathe to me: "I am yours, 
Be mine!" 
             Following this new 
Body, somehow familiar, this young shape, somehow old, 
For a moment I`m younger, the century is younger. 
the living Strauss, his moustache just getting gray, 
Is shouting to the players: "Louder! 
Louder! I can still hear Madame Schumann-Heink-" 
Or else, white, bald, the old man`s joyfully 
Telling conductors they must play Elektra 
Like A Midsummer Night`s Dream -like a fairy music; 
Proust, dying, is swallowing his iced beer 
And changing in proof the death of Bergotte 
According to his own experience; Garbo, 
A commissar in Paris, is listening attentively 
To the voice telling how McGillicuddy me McGillivray, 
And McGillivray said to McGillicuddy-no, McGillicuddy 
Said to McGillivray-that is, McGillivray...Garbo 
Says seriously: "I vish dey`d never met." 


As I walk behind this woman I remember 
That before I flew here-waked in the forest 
At dawn, by the piece called Birds Beginning Day 
That, each day, birds play to begin the day- 
I wished as men wish: "May this day be different!" 
The birds were wishing, as birds wish-over and over, 
With a last firmness, intensity, reality- 
"May this day be the same!" 
                                        Ah, turn to me 
And look into my eyes, say: "I am yours, 
Be mine!" 
             My wish will have come true. And yet 
When your eyes meet my eyes, they`ll bring into 
The weightlessness of my pure wish the weight 
Of a human being: someone to help or hurt, 
Someone to be good to me, to be good to, 
Someone to cry when I am angry 
that she doesn`t like Elektra, someone to start on Proust with. 
A wish, come true, is life. I have my life. 
When you turn just slide your eyes across my eyes 
And show in a look flickering across your face 
As lightly as a leaf`s shade, a bird`s wing, 
That there is no one in the world quit like me, 
That if only...If only... 
                                    That will be enough. 


But I`ve pretended long enough: I walk faster 
And come close, touch with the tip of my finger 
The nape of her neck, just where the gold 
Hair stops, and the champagne-colored dress begins. 
My finger touches her as the gingko`s shadow 
Touches her.    
                Because, after all, it is my wife 
In a new dress from Bergdorf`s, walking toward the park. 
She cries out, we kiss each other, and walk arm in arm 
Through the sunlight that`s much too good for New York, 
The sunlight of our own house in the forest. 
Still, though, the poor things need it...We`ve no need 
To start out on Proust, to ask each other about Strauss. 
We first helped each other, hurt each other, years ago. 
After so many changes made and joys repeated, 
Our first bewildered, transcending recognition 
Is pure acceptance.   We can`t tell our life 
From our wish. Really I began the day 
Not with a man`s wish: "May this day be different," 
But with the birds` wish: "May this day 
Be the same day, the day of my life."
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