deepundergroundpoetry.com
Sacher-Masoch On Holiday
He stepped from the third class compartment.
On the platform in Venice, he had finally become “Gregor”.
They were alone together in a foreign city,
he had left his respectable station in life behind him.
She had travelled separately (would their hotel suites have
the all-important communicating doors?), fur-clad,
aloof, and brimming with contemptuous cruelty.
He stood on the platform before her first class compartment
as she dissected him with her basilisk stare. She spoke
barely above a whisper, her serpent’s voice stung.
“Gregor, I expect to be attended punctually.”
He surrendered, unable to analyse the strange
gratification, his tormented fusion
of humiliation, pleasure and pain.
On the platform in Venice, he had finally become “Gregor”.
They were alone together in a foreign city,
he had left his respectable station in life behind him.
She had travelled separately (would their hotel suites have
the all-important communicating doors?), fur-clad,
aloof, and brimming with contemptuous cruelty.
He stood on the platform before her first class compartment
as she dissected him with her basilisk stare. She spoke
barely above a whisper, her serpent’s voice stung.
“Gregor, I expect to be attended punctually.”
He surrendered, unable to analyse the strange
gratification, his tormented fusion
of humiliation, pleasure and pain.
Published 6th Jan 2010
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6th Jan 2010 1:27pm
...suit with much unanswered to tease the reader. Correct punctuation may not endear you to some, Alec. But then - and it's a positive - this is time warp poetry.
9th Mar 2010 9:21am
