Fall 1969 • Vol. XXXI No. 4 Poetry |

Fate in Incognito

At last I can figure out the nature of that whisking sound which I hear whenever I leave the room It is not really the sound of wind through television aerials, safety screens, and the holes in old socks and underwear dangling on clotheslines But Fate, rubbing its hands Whisk whisk it must certainly be wearing gloves Whisk whisk or else its fingerprints are ridged and immortal as corduroy And nevertheless, despite the threat Here I am proceeding as if it were normal As if a future came automatically, without having to be predicted, without requiring that personal conception precede circumstances and occurrences As if any difficulties experienced last night, today, and tomorrowAnd the tragedy of yesterday, with its latent triumphs Were not illusions of some will or other, Harmony of hope and trepidation   "Whisk whisk whisk, there you go again, Fate, swathed and whisking away. Now that I have thrown back your disguise and found you hidden under the mask of the whisk I know y

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

Rose

By Michael Benedikt

At last I can figure out the nature of that whisking sound which I hear whenever I leave the room It is not really the sound of wind through television […]

The Body

By Michael Benedikt

At last I can figure out the nature of that whisking sound which I hear whenever I leave the room It is not really the sound of wind through television […]

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.