Safer Not To Know Poem by Richard Blanch

The Pleasures of Self-Consciousness
‘I could well forbear't.’




Because he felt a certain tendency to kiss what he found fair
He turned away and left her wary figure on the stair
Surprised. He did not think to stop, explain his pain,
Nor stay to weigh what might, perhaps, be saved.
For him such thoughts were messy, pointless, vain.
Outside, warm rain, rich lilac, coaxed. But no. To bare
His mind's newborn, slug-soft, inane imaginings would tear
Him to the core. A sore misgiving, raw fear of too fierce living
Had caught him, sudden, puzzling, grim, unwelcome, floating in her hair.
Something there was in it of natural unselfish care,
Something of diffidence. But, while to be aware
Is surely good, squirming within a ring
Of hard edged consciousness is not. It brings
No joy to the shrinking. Is one ivy-must cling
Or die? So cut this knot that makes it difficult to sing
Of fresher joys, hard even to draw breath. Should not, he thought, the aim
Of life be freedom, that is found amid the neatly supple claims
Of discipline? Certainly, never dare to be ashamed,
Nor risk a cruel rebuff, find oneself brusquely blamed.
No. Keep distance. Too close will mean too taut.
And chagrin is the enemy of thought,
The end of calm good fellowship. And all for naught.
Nor should one chance, even in a glance, the mortifying
Inkling, as she sadly turns away, of how far too far longing
Has grown. Safer to stay within, fostering a quiet belonging,
Making a home of musing, the soul’s balanced self embrace.
Safer to watch for, elbow out, the edgy face
Of need. Safer to walk the slow sound pace
Of unadmitted dreams. Refuse to taste
All untried spices. Choose the clarity of grace,
Aesthetic, pleasing. Shun such hot energies. Spurn racing.
Hearts. What cannot be should not be thought of. Scour it out. Leave no trace.
Keep guard. Then you will suffer no self taunts, no awkward thwarting rooms
Packed with should-not-have. Instead, the cool quiet dignity of the tomb.