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The Foggy, Foggy Blue

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When I was a young man, I loved to write poems   
         And I called a spade a spade
And the only only thing that made me sing   
         Was to lift the masks at the masquerade.   
I took them off my own face,
         I took them off others too
And the only only wrong in all my song
         Was the view that I knew what was true.

Now I am older and tireder too
         And the tasks with the masks are quite trying.   
I’d gladly gladly stop if I only only knew
         A better way to keep from lying,   
And not get nervous and blue
         When I said something quite untrue:   
I looked all around and all over
         To find something else to do:   
I tried to be less romantic
         I tried to be less starry-eyed too:   
But I only got mixed up and frantic
         Forgetting what was false and what was true.

But tonight I am going to the masked ball,
         Because it has occurred to me
That the masks are more true than the faces:
         —Perhaps this too is poetry?
I no longer yearn to be naïve and stern
         And masked balls fascinate me:
Now that I know that most falsehoods are true
         Perhaps I can join the charade?   
This is, at any rate, my new and true view:
         Let live and believe, I say.
The only only thing is to believe in everything:
         It’s more fun and safer that way!

Delmore Schwartz, “The Foggy, Foggy Blue” from Selected Poems (1938-1958): Summer Knowledge. Copyright © 1967 by Delmore Schwartz. Reprinted with the permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation, www.wwnorton.com/nd/welcome.htm.
Source: Selected Poems (1938-1958): Summer Knowledge (New Directions Publishing Corporation, 1967)
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The Foggy, Foggy Blue

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