Complaint in the Garden by Randall Mann

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Randall Mann is one of my favourite poets, and this collection is another joy.

Part of poem Eros, about a sex club -

…

(It’s hardly my first Eros

experience: there comes an hour

when, in spite of the money,

no matter how unsafe,

I find what I need only in the dark.)

The man without a towel

removes my towel:

I fall into the arms of Eros;

that world, a underworld, dark

no matter the hour.

And it is good. And we are safe.

It is good to have more sex than money.

Written before same-sex marriage was a legal reality, but even Husband sits a little awkwardly for me, too much patriarchal baggage, so I think this poem stands still…

Pantoum

If there is a word in the lexicon of love,

it will not declare itself.

The nature of words is to fail

men who fall in love with men.

It will not declare itself,

the prefect word. Boyfriend seems ridiculous:

men who fall in love with men

deserve something a bit more formal.

The perfect word? Boyfriend? Ridiculous.

But partner is … businesslike -

we deserve something a bit less formal,

much more in love with love.

But if partner is businesslike,

then lover suggests only sex,

is too much in love with love.

There is life outside the bedroom,

and lover suggests only sex.

We are left with roommate, or friend.

There is life, but outside of the bedroom.

My friend and I rarely speak of one another.

To my left is my roommate, my friend.

If there is a word in the lexicon of love,

my friend and rarely speak it of one another.

The nature of words is to fail.