Wedding

Poem By Vasko Popa

Each strips his own skin
Each bares his own constellation
Which has never seen the night

Each fills his skin with rocks
And plays with it
Lit by his own stars

Who doesn't stop till dawn
Who doesn't bat an eyelid or fall
Earns his own skin

(This game is rarely played)

Comments about Wedding

Wow Perfect
I perceive in this the vulnerability and nakedness of life that marriage brings to two previously clothed people. Clothed with the personas we manifest to the outside world, clothed with the masks that hide our own insecurities. Masks and filters which the intimacy of living life in the company of another makes impossible to maintain. I see the rocks as images of the toils of life, the personal difficulties that we must each bear, according to our individual stars, even in the context of marriage. The final stanza is mysterious to me, but if the game is rarely played, then in most cases the players stop before dawn or bat an eyelid or fall. Perhaps a wider context than the sexual intimacy connotation which most easily presents itself, perhaps touching upon the broader aspects of the requirements of companionship. Intriguing as a whole. Like trying to find the eye holes in someone else's mask.
Till dawn! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Could not understand where it was taking me.
How to approach this poem? Certainly not head on, not face-to-face, naked and vulnerable. Maybe armed, more for self-defense than to do harm. Obliquely. In silence or with the blood-curdling yell of a warrior? I don't think it would matter. Popa has turned the idea of a celebratory union of two googly-eyed young lovers into some surreal contest of wills. Or at least a test of will for one. A treacherous game where likely there never is a winner. What is this vision? His vision? It starts with creating vulnerability and ends with a parenthetical of defeat (or at least negation) of what's been described. The second stanza turns inward, but weights the inward turn with might be the work of a prison inmate sentenced to hard labor. The poem speaks of a futile intensity, a Sisyphean labor. I like how clean and hard the poem is. Sculptural and muscular. Impenetrable as a marble statue. An object to circle around and contemplate. Maybe a little like life. Opaque. Requiring an expenditure of effort for very uncertain results. Still, I cannot decide who the bride might be in this poem? Himself? Life? Or the other as lover? Who could be a match for this intensity?


Rating Card

3,5 out of 5
3 total ratings

Other poems of POPA

Race

Some bite from the others
A leg an arm or whatever

Take it between their teeth

The Admirers Of The Little Box

Sing little box

Don't let sleep overtake you
The world's awake within you

Far Within Us #1

We raise our arms
The street climbs into the sky
We lower our eyes
The roofs go down into the earth

Far Within Us #2

Look here's that uninvited
Alien presence look it's here

A shudder on the ocean of tea in the cup

A Conceited Mistake

Once upon a time there was a mistake
So silly so small
That no one would even have noticed it

Give Me Back My Rags

Just come to my mind
My thoughts will scratch out your face

Just come into my sight