Midnight - Louise Gluck

MIDNIGHT

At last the night surrounded me;
I floated upon it, perhaps in it,
or it carried me as a river carries
a boat, and at the same time
it swirled above me,
star-studded but dark nevertheless.

These were the moments I lived for.
I was, I felt, mysteriously lifted above the world
so that action was at last impossible
which made thought not only possible but limitless.

It had no end. I did not, I felt,
need to do anything. Everything
would be done for me, or done to me,
and if it was not done, it was not
essential.

I was on my balcony.
In my right hand I held a glass of Scotch
in which two ice cubes were melting.

Silence had entered me.
It was like the night, and my memories—they were like stars
in that they were fixed, though of course
if one could see as do the astronomers
one would see they are unending fires, like the fires of hell.
I set my glass on the iron railing.

Below, the river sparkled. As I said,
everything glittered—the stars, the bridge lights, the important
illumined buildings that seemed to stop at the river
then resume again, man’s work
interrupted by nature. From time to time I saw
the evening pleasure boats; because the night was warm,
they were still full.

This was the great excursion of my childhood.
The short train ride culminating in a gala tea by the river,
then what my aunt called our promenade,
then the boat itself that cruised back and forth over the dark water —

The coins in my aunt’s hand passed into the hand of the captain
I was handed my ticket, each time a fresh number.
Then the boat entered the current.

I held my brother’s hand.
We watched the monuments succeeding one another
always in the same order
so that we moved into the future
while experiencing perpetual recurrences.

The boat traveled up the river and then back again.
It moved through time and then
through a reversal of time, though our direction
was forward always, the prow continuously
breaking a path in the water.

It was like a religious ceremony
in which the congregation stood
awaiting, beholding,
and that was the entire point, the beholding.

The city drifted by,
half on the right side, half on the left.

See how beautiful the city is,
my aunt would say to us. Because
it was lit up, I expect. Or perhaps because
someone had said so in the printed booklet.

Afterward we took the last train.
I often slept, even my brother slept.
We were country children, unused to these intensities.
You boys are spent, my aunt said,
as though our whole childhood had about it
an exhausted quality.
Outside the train, the owl was calling.

How tired we were when we reached home.
I went to bed with my socks on.

The night was very dark.
The moon rose.
I saw my aunt’s hand gripping the railing.
In great excitement, clapping and cheering,
the others climbed onto the upper deck
to watch the land disappear into the ocean