Poetry: Marc Di Saverio | Cassandra Voices

Poetry: Marc Di Saverio


for Diane Windsor

When I was still the husband of the wind —
when I was Leopardi-sure I’d never
know a woman’s body’s ways — when I
was nineteen – when I was Prufrock-positive
of mermaids never singing to me, either,
of a life without betrothal or progeny –
            when I was one of the hideously-bodied —
            When I was still the husband of the wind,
            I would dream, like Pygmalion, of my donna perfetta,
            One whose soul was as beauteous as her body,
            One whose nature was sublime but unlikely,
            and I would dream that she would come to life,
            that she would meet me at the brow, and love me, and now,
            beside you, awake while you sleep, I see: she is you.




for Diane Windsor

According to that Acolyte who some say saw the Second Coming —
           no greater love can a man have than this —
          than to lay down his life for his friend;
According to that Acolyte who some say saw the Gallops of Glory —
no greater love can a man have than mine –
I’m warming outside James Street store-fronts where once
                    our sea-sky-lips would,
stunning passers-by, horizon their romance-less eyes with
                                      each of our own perfect kisses;
I’m slumming throughout air-stung hoar-frosts where once
                     our sea-sky lids would,
shunning passers-by, thunderclap their romance-less hearts with
                                       each of our own perfect visions –
Yet, take thought: the adversary’s maximum extensions are harpoons
                                  he swears are darts of amities knee-
                    jerkingly flung automatically as beams toward their
                                  midnight moons, or smiles of mothers
    whose conditionless love so helplessly blooms in the faces
            of red-eyed teens all synch-ly slouching at their court-hearing.
I surmise The Devil has not heard, and I hope, Diane, you’ll finally know:
                     calm can only come by the one called
                     that violet-eye-light-beaming Jesus Christ –
         and, that, Lucifer, like a late autumn wasp with stinging wings
                        frosting in the twilight, KNOWS his death is near,
    so he quavers in fright, privately, yet, publicly,  like he does now,
jabs a maximum of souls, which he considers his birthright;
And, take thought: I often wonder if you,
yes, Job-long-suffering you, weeping-willow-boughs
-amid-the-winter-wind-unassuming you, ever
           owned the value to wonder: Might I be one to write as
fast as the Almighty
speaks, might I be the Stenographer of the Lord, never even needing
any breaks (O Lucifer,  YOU believe
                                   that you will beat her hand at any sort
           of duel? Her hand is guided by the hand of God! O Lucifer,
                          she is ready!) So, Di, when you face him, Eastwood-easy,
And, take thought: the force that drives my spirit drives your own,
yet the spirit of Satan dives
like Iscariot dove from the rope-ripped-bough throughout the Hour
                                                           Of Shadows.  Remember,
Satan, regardless of his wishes, despite being SMALL g god of this
world, is merely the prop-foil-prelude
secondary of so many myriad dualities created by
The Trinity, his eventual Bermuda Triangle, until whose disappearance,
                                     is the mere adversary, the saw-weight
                     of the see-saw, the one alone the Lord esteems enough
         to consider the clearest, but maybe not His most fearsome opponent,
                                                who has darkness both behind and before
     him! So how, Diane, is he even a Light-Bearer,
                             since, wherefrom comes his light? He KNOWS
                         he is finite – he worships the finite, so how can he be
      bright — especially in the face of your light, woman-of-my-dreams-



For Diane Windsor

Even the time I spend apart from you
is yours. Even scarcely tenable
quavers of your smiles are seen to the
whole world inside my electric soul,
even the memory of your voice’s lower-
most echo, blasts away any noises, accompan-
ies me through the loneliest, hollow silences.
Even your Galatean shadow is bodied – and souled —
in my heart. Even the time I spend apart
from you is yours.  Even others with
your name, are more forgivable
to me. Even Angels of the Light
discuss us, I believe. Even
awake beside you sleeping, I cannot dream.


for Diane Windsor

And how you modern readers wonder why I call her thee?
It is because you’ve never seen or known her apogee.

And at the crucifixion-slow-mo-mentioning
of me and you, the lovers of future Valentine’s
Days will wonder, Romeo and who? No greater
love can a man have than this: than to lay down his life for his friend;
No greater love can a man have than mine; for you I laid
down my life, and for you I’d lay it again – able by
the aegis of the Lord, without whom I would be gone…
           If I did not, if I do not, if I
           would not so strive to love you just as Jesus
           loves His Bride, I’d flee from thee as the Devil
           fled the moment after he thirdly sought
           to tempt I AM; Calvary’s my only
           guide to loving thee, so my heart beats
           Di-ane, Di-ane, Di-ane, Di-ane, Di-ane.


About Author

Nobel Marc di Saverio hails from Hamilton, Canada. His poems, translations and artwork have appeared internationally. In Issue 92 of Canadian Notes and Queries Magazine, di Saverio's Sanatorium Songs (2013) was hailed as "the greatest poetry debut from the past 25 years." In 2016 he received the City of Hamilton Arts Award for Best Emerging Writer. In 2017, his work was broadcasted on BBC Radio 3, and he published his first book of translations: Ship of Gold: The Essential Poems of Emile Nelligan (Vehicule Press). On May 1st, 2020, Guernica Editions published Crito Di Volta, a 200 page epic poem, to international critical acclaim. Guggenheim Fellow and Griffin Prize Winner, AF Moritz, wrote: "Crito di Volta is a completely original mastery of the art of poetry -- a work of genius". Di Saverio studied English and History at McMaster University, but never took a degree due to illness. He is the son of Carlo Di Saverio, the scholar and teacher who studied Linguistics and Languages at University of Toronto (M.A.,1981). Di Saverio's poem, "Weekend Pass", was adapted into the movie, CANDY -- directed by Cassandra Cronenberg, and starring the author himself -- which was selected to the Toronto International Film Festival in 2013. In 2021, he received a Pushcart Prize nomination, and he started his first novel, THE GALLOPS OF GLORY. In 2022 he was nominated for the Bressani Literary Prize. In 2022, Di Saverio was invited to exhibit his artwork at THE CARROUSEL DU LOUVRE (Paris).Prize nominee Marc di Saverio's Sanatorium Songs was hailed as "The greatest poetry debut in 25 years," in Canadian Notes and Queries Magazine. Di Saverio won a City of Hamilton Arts Award for Best Emerging Writer, and his work has beenbroadcast by BBC Radio 3. Publications include translations: Ship of Gold:The Essential Poems of Emile Nelligan (Vehicule Press,) and an epic poem, Crito Di Volta, to international critical acclaim. Di Saverio's poem, "Weekend Pass," was adapted for film. CANDY, directed by Cassandra Cronenberg, stars the author himself, and was selected for the Toronto International Film Festival. Marc di Saverio lives in Ontario, where he's writing his first novel,The Daymaker.

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