The Bridge of Sighs by Steve Orlen (1942-2010)

If you'll believe me when I tell you I have tried
To understand pleasure, the beginning of pleasure,
You'll know exactly how I watched my mother

That morning lounging in the red plush chair
In the gray, submerging shadows of the parlor
As she talked on the phone:that I stared

With each of my five years at the tender
Curve of her ankle as it moved downt the high instep
Of her dry, clean, pale, and perfect foot and over

The toes, underneath to the arch. Oh, it just leapt!
It was the highest, most splendid arch,
More magnificent than the Arc de Triomphe in the newsreels

As the German soldiers marched beneath,
More delicate than the arches of the bridges
Of Venice, build by those gentlemen the Doges,

Paved by the feet of centuries of lovers
And saved from destruction by the American soldiers
On probably the same morning

I watched my mother's foot tense and relax,
And when she smiled down her long body at me,
And stroked my hair, and offered me the smooth beauty

Of her foot, and asked me, yes, to rub it just a little,
She said, right into the phone to whomever,
"Ahhh," the ah of the beginning of pleasure

That demands, even as it gives itself up,
That leaves you always ready to begin,
Always on the lip of things

Like a young harlot standing on the Bridge of Sighs
Waving goodbye to the soldiers of the losing side,
Waving hello to the soldiers of the winning side.

 

Ed note:  This poem first appeared in the Atlantic Monthly. Donald Hall chose it for The Best American Poetry 1989.  Paul Muldoon picked Orlen's poem "Song: I Love You. Who are You?" for the Best American Poetry 2005

Steve Orlen has died.  We will post a remembrance of him here later today.  Meanwhile, please share in the comment field your thoughts about this wonderful poet. 

Comments

[Laura Orem]

I am so sorry to hear this. Thanks for posting this lovely poem.

[Bert]

The news that Steve passed away, has shocked and saddened us.
We are wish all nearest and dearest the strength to bare this lost. Our heart goes out to all.
In one of his last emails, Steve wrote “I've been madly working on poems every day, and
I'm afraid to do anything else, afraid that the muse will leave me!”
The muse has left and took Steve with her.

With love,Marcel and Bert

[Randi]

I was currently in his poetry class when Steve began feeling the effects of the disease that took him. I will never forget the bruteness by which he spoke, wrote, and mentored. We have lost a brilliant poet, friend, and mentor but have been left with the beauty in his poetry and the lessons he has taught us.

Forever in our hearts, Steve...

Randi

[Eric Rice]

Excellent poem, major loss.

[David Jones]

Steve was at first an affront to me, when as his student I first gathered that he would suffer no pretenders, and allow very little use of cosmetics.