I Don't Know His Name

I don't know his name or what he looks like,

But I have a much more certain guide:

I can tell exactly what he looks like inside.

When I undertook this correspondence,

Little did I know I'd grow so fond;

Little did I know our views would so correspond.

He writes me what his feelings are

On Shaw, Flaubert, Chopin, Renoir.

The more I read, the more I find

We're one in mind and heart.

I know the kind of home we'd share,

The books, the prints, the music there,

A home, a life, that's warm and full

And rich in love and art.

I don't need to see his handsome profile.

I don't need to see his manly frame.

All I need to know is in each letter,

Each long revealing letter.

I couldn't know him better

If I knew his name.

If he isn't too handsome,

True it doesn't much matter.

(He writes his deepest thoughts to me)

But his personal habits are more important than his looks.

(on Swift, Vermeer, and Debussy,)

Supposing he snores like a locomotive

Supposing he grinds his teeth

Supposing he's a knuckle cracker, Amalia

(on Maugham, Remarque, Dumas, Ducas, Dufy, Dufay, Defoe.)

Good luck with your books!

And another small detail that you haven't yet mentioned,

(He thinks as I, he feels as I.)

I am speaking of sex, dear, when you and he are all alone.

(He shares the same ideas as I.)

Come to think of it, maybe you're right.

Maybe it doesn't matter at that.

Maybe I'd do much better myself

With a library card (I'll never find a man who's so simpatico,)

And a gramophone. (I know.)

I don't need to see his handsome profile.

(I was taken in by someone's profile.)

I don't need to see his manly frame.

(I was taken in by someone's frame.)

All I need to know is in each letter, each

(How I could have used one)

Long revealing letter.