Abstract

Last night I dived my beggar armDays deep in her breast that wore no heartFor me alone but only a rocked drumTelling the heart I broke of a good habitThat her loving, unfriendly limbsWould plunge my betrayal from sheet to skySo the betrayed might learn in the sun beamsOf the death in a bed in another country.1This poem, as far as I have been able to determine, has never been the object of any published critical commentary. The only help that I have had in my reading of it has come from groups of students to whom I have regularly assigned it as a midterm paper, largely because I knew in advance that they would have to confront it entirely on their own. My interest in this text stems from its unique status as a poem..