by Irving Layton
“I’m the sort of girl
you must first tell you love.”
“I love you,” I said.
She gave herself to me then
and I enjoyed her on her perfumed bed.
By the gods, the pleasure in her small
wriggling body was so great,
I had spoken no lecherous falsehood.
Death is a name for beauty not in use.
— Irving Layton
If you read today’s poets, you’d never know the kind of barbarous world we live in. Man forgets what a terrifying monster he can be. I want to keep reminding people how close they are to disaster.
— Irving Layton
A godforsaken place where the people know nothing of love.
— Irving Layton, on Toronto.
by Irving Layton
His friends drudged in an airplane factory
The theory of speed was their sweaty talk;
And one who reclaimed rust machinery
Swore men hereafter would not run or walk.
Another crowed, pointing to his watch: “Feet?
As sure as I’m staring at Time’s own face
Our offspring shall be a limbless race,
Hopping in crystal ships from street to street.”
Icarus went on working on his wings.
Really, he despised their tame discussion;
He’d fly, but as a god towards the sun;
And rubbing the strong wax into the strings,
He leaped into the air – to hear the chorus
Of dismayed cries: “You’re bluffing, Icarus!”
I wrote a Marxist critique of this poem (the only poem of Layton’s in the anthology) back in school, which began my on-going love affair with Irving Layton. He is my favourite poet, and, if I may say so, I think you’d really like him. Today is his birthday.
Who Killed Irving Layton? | More Information | Biography