from Jack Straw's Castle, 1976
Courage, a Tale
There was a Child
who heard from another Child
that if you masturbate 100 times it kills you.
This gave him pause;
he certainly slowed down quite a bit
and also kept count.
But, till number 80,
was relatively loose about it.
There did seem plenty of time left.
The next 18
were reserved for celebrations,
like the banquet room in a hotel.
The 99th time
was simply unavoidable.
Weeks passed.
And then he thought
Fuck it
it's worth dying for,
and half an hour later
the score rose from 99 to 105.
from The Passages of Joy, 1982
San Francisco Streets
I've had my eye on you
For some time now.
You're getting by it seems,
Not quite sure how.
But as you go along
You're finding out
What different city streets
Are all about.
Peach country was your home.
When you went picking
You ended every day
With peach fuzz sticking
All over face and arms,
Intimate, gross,
Itching like family,
And far too close.
But when you come to town
And when you first
Hung out on Market Street
That was the worst:
Tough little group of boys
Outside Flagg's Shoes.
You learned to keep your cash.
You got tattoos.
Then by degrees you rose
Like country cream -
Hustler to towel boy,
Bath house and steam;
Tried being kept a while -
But felt confined,
One brass bed driving you
Out of your mind.
Later on Castro Street
You got new work
Selling chic jewelry.
And as sales clerk
You have at last attained
To middle class.
(No one on Castro Street
Peddles his ass.)
You gaze out from the store.
Watching you watch
All the men strolling by
I think I catch
Half-veiled uncertainty
In your expression.
Good looks and great physiques
Pass in procession.
You've risen up this high -
How, you're not sure.
Better remember what
Makes you secure.
Fuzz is still on the peach,
Peach on the stem.
Your looks looked after you.
Look after them.
from The Man with Night Sweats, 1992
Memory Unsettled
Your pain still hangs in air,
Sharp motes of it suspended;
The voice of your despair -
That also is not ended:
When near your death a friend
Asked you what he could do,
'Remember me,' you said.
We will remember you.
Once when you went to see
Another with a fever
In a like hospital bed,
With terrible hothouse cough.
And terrible hothouse shiver
That soaked him and then dried him,
And you perceived that he
Had to be comforted,
You climbed in there beside him
And hugged him plain in view,
Though you were sick enough,
And had your own fears too.
Thom Gunn is a gay English poet, but he has lived in California for so long that he sounds more American than British. Of the poems above, "Courage, a Tale" is just for fun. "San Francisco Streets" is a nice piece of social observation. "Memory Unsettled" could hardly be more different. It comes from a somber, Aids-haunted collection called "The Man with Night Sweats" and is based on a true incident. Along with a couple of other poems in the collection, it was written in memory of a graduate student, Charlie Hinkle.
Source: http://www.lobo-solo.com/poetry.html
Go to Gunn's page in the List of Famous GLTB.
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