In the Naked
Bed, in Plato’s Cave
by Delmore Schwartz
In the naked bed, in Plato's
cave,
Reflected headlights slowly
slid the wall,
Carpenters hammered under the
shaded window,
Wind troubled the window
curtains all night long,
A fleet of trucks strained
uphill, grinding,
Their freights covered, as
usual.
The ceiling lightened again,
the slanting diagram
Slid slowly forth.
Hearing the milkman's clop,
his striving up the stair, the bottle's chink,
I rose from bed, lit a
cigarette,
And walked to the window.
The stony street
Displayed the stillness in
which buildings stand,
The street-lamp's vigil and
the horse's patience.
The winter sky's pure capital
Turned me back to bed with
exhausted eyes.
Strangeness grew in the
motionless air.
The loose Film grayed.
Shaking wagons, hooves'
waterfalls,
Sounded
far off, increasing, louder and nearer.
A car coughed, starting.
Morning
softly Melting the air, lifted the half-covered chair
From underseas, kindled the
looking-glass,
Distinguished the dresser and
the white wall.
The bird called tentatively,
whistled, called,
Bubbled and whistled, so!
Perplexed, still wet With
sleep, affectionate, hungry and cold.
So, so, O son of man, the
ignorant night, the travail
Of early morning, the mystery
of the beginning
Again and again,
while history is unforgiven.
He is the Humbolt of Saul Bellow's famous 1975 novel "Humbolt's Gift".
