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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=389880" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>His Tuning of the Night</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">All night he lies awake tuning the sky,<br>tuning the night with its fat crackle of static,<br>with its melancholy love songs crooning<br>across the rainy air above Verdun<br>& the autobahn's blue suicidal dawn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wherever he lives there is the same unwomaned bed,<br>the ashtrays overflowing their reproaches,<br>his stained fingers on the tuning bar, fishing<br>for her voice in a deep mirrorless pond,<br>for the tinsel & elusive fish<br>(brighter than pennies in water & more wished upon)-<br>the copper-colored daughter of the pond god.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He casts for her, the tuning bar his rod,<br>but only long-dead lovers with their griefs<br>haunt him in Piaf's voice-<br>(as if a voice could somehow only die<br>when it was sung out, utterly).</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He finally lies down and drowns the light<br>but the taste of her rises, brackish,<br>from the long dark water of her illness<br>& his grief is terrible as drowning<br>when he reaches for the radio again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the daytime, you hardly know him;<br>he walks in a borrowed calm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You cannot sense<br>his desperation in the dawn<br>when the abracadabras of the birds<br>conjure another phantom day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He favors cities which blaze all night,<br>hazy mushrooms of light under the blue<br>& blinking eyes of jets.<br>But when the lamps across the way go under,<br>& the floorboards settle,<br>& the pipes fret like old men gargling-<br>he is alone with his mouthful of ghosts,<br>his tongue bitter with her unmourned death,<br>& the terrible drowning.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I watch from my blue window<br>knowing he does not trust me,<br>though I know him as I know my ghosts,<br>though I know his drowning,<br>though, since that night when all harmony broke for me,<br>I have been trying to tune the sky.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Erica+Jong">Erica Jong</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=389880" data-title="His Tuning of the Night de Erica Jong" data-description="All night he lies awake tuning the sky,
tuning the night with its fat crackle of static,
with its melancholy love songs crooning
across the rainy air above Verdun
& the autobahn's blue suicidal dawn.

Wherever he lives there is the same unwomaned ..."></div>
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