Nancy: Night sounds, day sounds, life sounds and death sounds – one by one we learn the calls and enrich our sense of our wild neighbors.
Who Screams?
Who screams in the night?
Who takes the path we carved between the spruce
and pauses (where my body pressed the grass beneath the birch)
and screams again?
Who claws at sleep?
Who walks our path at night and screams –
up from the cove, and past our door down to the bay?
Who breathes, and who is still?
Who travels on the path,
and makes the night air taut with silences and screams?
Who sleeps?
Who waits?
Who walks tonight on paths we used today?
Who screams?
Alan: Poems, and the poets whose minds they carry, meet across time and space. The quotations are from Stevens’ “Of Mere Being.”
He Encounters Wallace Stevens
Visiting his rich friend’s villa,
alone among porcelains, the Chinese classics,
Ryokan reads... “the palm at the end of the mind...,”
rushes out, lost all day
among Otogo’s cool pines and moss-damp slopes,
breathing “bronze decor,” breathing
“fire-fangled feathers,” stick and
begging bowl in the hall,
forgotten.
No comments:
Post a Comment