Fame

This was written on Clipper Street in San Francisco, 1964. I wrote two versions, one with a Spanish tone and the other with a Scottish.

FAME

I ached for fame this morning, not for sake
of notoriety or wealth or way
of living sumptuous days, but just
so I could speak to you and say, quite softly,
"I like Ramon, do you?
How about some orange in your tea?"
And you would nod and move more brusquely on,
"Oh, yes, that's very nice, I must agree."
A little fame and I could call you back,
"I have zinnias fresh bloomed
and jam potato buns, a recipe from Potosi."
And you'd reply, distracted, "Thank you, no."
At least my fame would bring respectful ears.
And I have many thoughts to tell you now,
thoughts born in moon-rocked gardens,
silver-spooned, which, grown,
reflect the doom of wild field buds--
ungathered, they must wither with the rest.
I ached for fame this morning;
long summer's dawn
had brought scarce dew to clasp each mission bell.
I had no way to show you, nor ever will.