The Cloister

By William Matthews 1942–1997 William Matthews

The last light of a July evening drained

into the streets below: My love and I had hard

things to say and hear, and we sat over

wine, faltering, picking our words carefully.

The afternoon before I had lain across

my bed and my cat leapt up to lie

alongside me, purring and slowly

growing dozy. By this ritual I could

clear some clutter from my baroque brain.

And into that brief vacancy the image

of a horse cantered, coming straight to me,

and I knew it brought hard talk and hurt

and fear. How did we do? A medium job,

which is well above average. But because

she had opened her heart to me as far

as she did, I saw her fierce privacy,

like a gnarled, luxuriant tree all hung

with disappointments, and I knew

that to love her I must love the tree

and the nothing it cares for me.

William Matthews, “The Cloister” from After All: Last Poems. Copyright © 1998 by William Matthews. Reprinted with the permission of Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved, www.houghtonmifflinbooks.com.

Source: After All: Last Poems (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 1998)

Biography

William Matthews's poetry has earned him a reputation as a master of well-turned phrases, wise sayings, and rich metaphors. Much of Matthews's poetry explores the themes of life cycles, the passage of time, and the nature of human consciousness. In another type of poem, he focuses on his particular enthusiasms: jazz music, basketball, and his children. His early writing was free-form and epigrammatic. As his career has . . .

Continue reading this biography