09 09 17

Impatient as we were for all of them to join us,
The land had not yet risen into view : gulls had swept the gray steel towers away
So that it pro­fi­ted less to go sear­ching, away over the hum­ming earth
Than to stay in imme­diate rela­tion to these other things – boxes, store parts, wha­te­ver you wan­ted to call them –
Whose ins­tal­led­ness was the price of fur­ther revo­lu­tions, so you knew this com­bat was the last.
And still the rela­tion­ship waxed, billo­wed like sce­ne­ry on the breeze.

They are the same aren’t they,
The pre­su­med land­scape and the dream of home
Because the people are all home­sick today or des­pe­ra­te­ly slee­ping,
Trying to remem­ber how those rec­tan­gu­lar shapes
Became so extra­neous and so near
To create a fore­ground of quiet know­ledge
In which youth had grown old, chan­ting and sin­ging wise hymns that
Will sign for old age
And so lift up the past to be per­sua­ded, and be put down again.

The war­ning is nothing more than an aspi­rate « h » ;
The pro­blem is sket­ched com­ple­te­ly, like fire­works moun­ted on poles :
Complexion of eve­ning, the accu­rate voices of the others.
During Coca-Cola les­sons it becomes patent
Of noise on the left, and we had so skip­ped a stage that
The great wave of the past, com­poun­ded in deri­sion,
Submerged idea and non-drea­mer alike
In fal­set­to star­light like « puri­ty »
Of desi­gn that had been the first dan­ger sign
To wash the sti­cky, icky stuff down the drain – pfui !

How does it feel to be out­side and inside at the same time,
The deli­cious fee­ling of the air contra­dic­ting and secret­ly abet­ting
The inter­ior warmth ? But the land curdles the dis­may in which it’s writ­ten
Bearing to a final point of fol­ly and doom
The wis­dom of these gene­ra­tions.
Look at what you’ve done to the land­scape –
The ice cube, the olive –
There is a per­fect tri-city mesh of things
Extending all the way along the river on both sides
With the end left for thoughts on construc­tion
That are always tur­ning to alps and thre­sholds
Above the tide of others, fee­ding a European moss rose without glo­ry.

We shall very soon have the plea­sure of recor­ding
A per­iod of una­ni­mous ter­gi­ver­sa­tion in this res­pect
And to make that plea­sure the grea­ter, it is worth while
At the risk of tedious ite­ra­tion, to put first upon record a final pro­test :
Rather decaying art, genius, ins­pi­ra­tion to hold to
An impos­sible « calque » of rea­li­ty, than
« The new school of the tri­vial, rising up on the field of bat­tle,
Something of sludge and leaf-mold, » and life
Goes tri­ck­ling out through the holes, like water through a sieve,
All in one direc­tion.

You who were direc­tion­less, and thought it would solve eve­ry­thing if you found one,
What do you make of this ? Just because a thing is immor­tal
Is that any rea­son to wor­ship it ? Death, after all, is immor­tal.
But you have gone into your houses and shut the doors, mea­ning
There can be no fur­ther dis­cus­sion.
And the river pur­sues its lone­ly course
With the sky and the trees cast up from the land­scape
For green brings unhap­pi­ness – le vert Porte mal­heur.
« The char­treuse moun­tain on the absinthe plain
Makes the strong man’s tears tumble down like rain. »

All this came to pass eons ago.
Your pro­gram wor­ked out per­fect­ly. You even avoi­ded
The mono­to­ny of per­fec­tion by lea­ving in cer­tain flaws :
A back­ward way of beco­ming, a for­ced hand­shake,
An absent-min­ded smile, though in fact nothing was left to chance.
Each detail was start­lin­gly clear, as though seen through a magni­fying glass,
Or would have been to an ideal obser­ver, name­ly your­self –
For only you could watch your­self so patient­ly from afar
The way God watches a sin­ner on the path to redemp­tion,
Sometimes disap­pea­ring into val­leys, but always on the way,
For it all builds up into some­thing, mea­nin­gless or mea­ning­ful
As archi­tec­ture, because plan­ned and then aban­do­ned when com­ple­ted,
To live after­wards, in sun­light and sha­dow, a cer­tain amount of years.
Who cares about what was there before ? There is no going back,
For stan­ding still means death, and life is moving on,
Moving on towards death. But some­times stan­ding still is also life.

« The Bungalows »
The Double Dream of Spring
E. P. Dutton & Co., Inc 1970