Tuesday, April 16, 2013

He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet.
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
If you have seen my movie Frankie Starlight, you will surely remember this scene, where Bernadette (Anne Parillaud) reads Yeats to Terry (Matt Dillon). It is as sweetly sexy a scene as you are likely to find in a movie (click to enlarge).

Benadette's socks. The rumpled bed. The dirt poor room. Lovestruck Terry. And Anne Parillaud reading Yeats' incomparable words in her heart-stopping Gallic accent.

I like to think of the scene as a kind of culmination of my life as a writer, a coming together of threads -- the night sky, poetry, beauty, love, sex.

Every book I've written has had the cloths of night embroidered into its fabric. Every book -- fiction and non-fiction -- has tried to evoke the sensual beauty of the blue and the dim and the dark, the light and the half light, a beauty that is frankly erotic even in the inanimate star-spangled sky, an eroticism that fuels the fiery nebulae and drives the flower through the green fuse.

The tangled bank that ends in tangled sheets. I lay them at your feet.