DIRGE TO A RELUCTANT VIRGIN

A POEM

by

JAMES JONES

Consciously I cannot blame you--only pity,
For You yourself are not to blame.

You are the result rather than the cause.

Once, some countless eons past, a distant star looked down and laughed--
And has been laughing ever since.

That was the day that Man first learned to think.

He must have guessed that you and I would meet.

I have been defeated. I admit it.

When I look at you and see the beauty of you,

I heave a sigh; a voiceless sorrow ebbs and flows.

Such a waste of gorgeous fecund clay--

Clay I tried to sculp--but could not:

You, the clay, flowed 'round my yearning stencil smugly
With always another protestation of convention.

Such a waste of fertile earth--

Earth I tried to sow--but could not:

I sowed my seeds and waited--but no understanding grew:

Above the spermy loam that lies inside you

2

There is a barren crust burned bleak by the things the pliant you were
taught.

Alas! My plowshare could only dent its surface.

I could name the Teachers:

The Church; The School; The Home. There are many others.

But: "What's the use?" I ask. The harm is done.

And they do not even know they erred.

To take such thirsty beauty as is yours

And teach it shame and vulgar modesty of its breasts and hips and thighs--

That is the heart of what the Church calls Sin.

That is bad enough, God knows!

But through this Evil is the Greater Evil born:

Hypocracy.

For when the ersatz teachings of the Church, the Home, the School begin
to fail,

Experience takes over and by Instinct tries

To right the wrong, correct the grievous error.

But then it is too late.

Instead of teaching Truth it teaches Falsity:

Whispered jokes and lurid tales and stiffled giggles;

Love songs of the Dance Bands and the Radio

Extolling Virtue dripping with the saccharin of saxophones;

Movies of True Love where the Hero gets the Girl--

And both live happily ever after.

While in the darkened theater there is the small, sneaked touch

Of moist palm to breast or leg or belly,

The mellow gurgle of the Hip Flask.

But my brain has lost its path and wandered.

3

My pen has caught the bit between its teeth
And galloped over lines and pages vainly.
An explanation of you could not change you.
You are you, and my admiration for you leaves me only pain.
My only armor is the indifference in which I try to wrap myself.
The mirage that is your body floats before me
Tantilizing--just beyond my reach.
"Marry me!" it says, "and I am yours:"
A man in black with undertaker face and collar in reverse
Speaks words. An organ plays dead tunes.
Thus comes my cue to exit. You see, I have a wife.
I am married to the Thing that you and yours have lost,
The Thing you traded for the "Safety of the Home"--and Life Insurance.
My mistress is the beauty of the ugliness of life.

So I must rove--I cannot stay to teach you
These things I know which you refuse to learn.
I am the eccentric. I yearn to drink the lip-red wine of life.
I am searching for a cup from which to drink.
I had thought you were my wine-glass:
At first I did not see the flaw made in the blowing.
So I am gone--for the bubble in your glass
Distorts the beauty of the wine and makes its red seem black.
But, to assure myself that you will know the pain I feel,
I leave you this:
A list of things that you shall never know:

You and I--
--Swimming in the nude beneath a drunken moon
And the Midas-touch of moonlight on our bodies lying in the sand--
You and I--

4

--Lying nakid on a rug of long white fur before a raging fire
While a zooming winds swims past the corners of our cabin in the
tracklessness outside--

You and I--

--Writhing in a mud-pool while the ramblast pricks our skins with driven
raindrops

white

And great lightnings light the glistening muddy kiss of earth, and the
thunder shatters windows far away--

You and I--

--Caressing in the flowing filmy robes of Priest and Priestess
In a man-made richly-carven temple to a vicious pagan god--

You and I--

--Lying, body pressed to body, in the center of a great still snowbank

Hemmed in by windless floating blizzards in the vastness of a barren plain--

These things I leave you. I must go.

The time is short, and watches tick.

My wine-glass waits--someplace.

DIRGE TO A RELUCTANT VIRGIN

Consciously I cannot blame you--only pity,
For you yourself are not to blame.
You are the result rather than the cause.
Once, some countless eons past, a distant star looked down and laughed--
And has been laughing ever since.
That was the day that Man first learned to think.
He must have guessed that you and I would meet.

I have been defeated. I admit it.
When I look at you and see the beauty of you,
I heave a sigh; a voiceless sorrow ebbs and flows.
Such a waste of gorgeous, fecund clay--
Clay I tried to sculp--but could not:
You, the clay, flowed 'round my yearning stencil smugly
With always another protestation of convention.
Such a waste of fertile earth--
Earth I tried to sow--but could not:
I sowed my seeds and waited--but no understanding grew:
Above the spermy loam that lies inside you
There is a barren crust burned bleak by the things the pliant you were taught.
Alas! My plowshare could only dent its surface.
I could name the Teachers:
The Church; The School; The Home. There are many others.
But: "What's the use?" I ask. The harm is done.
And they do not even know they erred.

To take such thirsty beauty as is yours
And teach it shame and vulgar modesty of its breasts and hips and thighs--
That is the heart of what the Church calls Sin.
That is bad enough, God knows!
But through this Evil is the Greater Evil born:
Hypocrisy.
For when the ersatz teaching of the Church, the Home, the School begin to fail,
Experience takes over and by Instinct tries
To right the wrong, correct the grievous error.
But then it is too late.
Instead of teaching Truth it teaches Falsity:
Whispered jokes and lurid tales and stifled giggles;
Love songs of the Dance Bands and the Radio
Extolling Virtue dripping with the saccharin of saxophones;
Movies of True Love where the Hero gets the Girl--
And Both Live Happily Ever After.
While in the darkened theater there is the small, sneaked touch
Of moist palm to breast or leg or belly,
The mellow gurgle of the Hip Flask.

But my brain has lost its path and wandered.
My pen has caught the bit between its teeth
And galloped over lines and pages vainly:
An explanation of you could not change you.
You are you, and my admiration for you leaves me only pain.
My only armor is the indifference in which I try to wrap myself.
The mirage that is your body floats before me
Tantalizing--just beyond my reach.
"Marry me!" it says, "and I am yours":
A man in black with undertaker face and collar in reverse
Speaks words. An organ plays dead tunes.
Thus comes my cue to exit. You see, I have a wife.
I am married to the Thing that you and yours have lost,
The Thing you traded for the Safety Of The Home--and Life Insurance.
My mistress is the beauty of the ugliness of life.

So I must rove--I cannot stay to teach you
These things I know which you refuse to learn.
I am the eccentric. I yearn to drink the lip-red wine of life.
I am searching for a cup from which to drink.
I had thought you were my wine-glass:
At first I did not see the flaw made in the blowing.
So I am gone--for the bubble in your glass
Distorts the beauty of the wine and makes it red seem black.
But, to assure myself that you will know the pain I feel,
I leave you this:
A list of things that you shall never know:

You and I--
--Lying nakid on a rug of long, white fur before a raging fire
While a booming wind swims past the corners of our cabin in the tracklessness
outside--

You and I--
--Writhing in a mud-pool while the ramblast pricks our skins with driven raindrops
And great lightnings light the glistening, muddy kiss of earth, and the thunder
shatters windows far away--

You and I--
--Caressing in the flowing filmy robes of Priest and Priestess
In a man-made, richly-carven temple to a vicious, pagan god--

You and I--
--Lying body oressed to body, in the center of a great, still snowbank
Hemmed in by windless floating blizzards in the vastness of a barren plain--