The Tortoise In Keystone Heights

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1. Marengo Out of the sump rise the marigolds. From the rim of the marsh, muslin with mosquitoes, Rises the egret, in his cloud-cloth. Through the soft rain, like mist, and mica, The withered acres of moss begin again. When I have to die, I would like to die On a day of rain Long rain, slow […]...
2. Tortoise Shell The Cross, the Cross Goes deeper in than we know, Deeper into life; Right into the marrow And through the bone. Along the back of the baby tortoise The scales are locked in an arch like a bridge, Scale-lapping, like a lobster’s sections Or a bee’s. Then crossways down his sides Tiger-stripes and wasp-bands. Five, […]...
3. Tortoise Family Connections On he goes, the little one, Bud of the universe, Pediment of life. Setting off somewhere, apparently. Whither away, brisk egg? His mother deposited him on the soil as if he were no more than droppings, And now he scuffles tinily past her as if she were an old rusty tin. A mere obstacle, He […]...
4. Baby Tortoise You know what it is to be born alone, Baby tortoise! The first day to heave your feet little by little from the shell, Not yet awake, And remain lapsed on earth, Not quite alive. A tiny, fragile, half-animate bean. To open your tiny beak-mouth, that looks as if it would never open, Like some […]...
5. Tortoise Shout I thought he was dumb, said he was dumb, Yet I’ve heard him cry. First faint scream, Out of life’s unfathomable dawn, Far off, so far, like a madness, under the horizon’s dawning rim, Far, far off, far scream. Tortoise in extremis. Why were we crucified into sex? Why were we not left rounded off, […]...
6. Horse Fiddle FIRST I would like to write for you a poem to be shouted in the teeth of a strong wind. Next I would like to write one for you to sit on a hill and read down the river valley on a late summer afternoon, reading it in less than a whisper to Jack on […]...
7. Sacrifices All winter the fire devoured everything Tear-stained elegies, old letters, diaries, dead flowers. When April finally arrived, I opened the woodstove one last time And shoveled the remains of those long cold nights Into a bucket, ash rising Through shafts of sunlight, As swirling in bright, angelic eddies. I shoveled out the charred end of […]...
8. Storm Windows People are putting up storm windows now, Or were, this morning, until the heavy rain Drove them indoors. So, coming home at noon, I saw storm windows lying on the ground, Frame-full of rain; through the water and glass I saw the crushed grass, how it seemed to stream Away in lines like seaweed on […]...
9. Epitaph The first time I died, I walked my ways; I followed the file of limping days. I held me tall, with my head flung up, But I dared not look on the new moon’s cup. I dared not look on the sweet young rain, And between my ribs was a gleaming pain. The next time […]...
10. A Little Song When you, my Dear, are away, away, How wearily goes the creeping day. A year drags after morning, and night Starts another year of candle light. O Pausing Sun and Lingering Moon! Grant me, I beg of you, this boon. Whirl round the earth as never sun Has his diurnal journey run. And, Moon, slip […]...
11. The First Rain The first rain reminds me Of the rising summer dust. The rain doesn’t remember the rain of yesteryear. A year is a trained beast with no memories. Soon you will again wear your harnesses, Beautiful and embroidered, to hold Sheer stockings: you Mare and harnesser in one body. The white panic of soft flesh In […]...
12. Of Old Sat Freedom on the Heights Of old sat Freedom on the heights, The thunders breaking at her feet: Above her shook the starry lights: She heard the torrents meet. There in her place she did rejoice, Self-gather’d in her prophet-mind, But fragments of her mighty voice Came rolling on the wind. Then stept she down thro’ town and field To […]...
13. Heights Of Folly O crows circling over my head and cawing! I admit to being, at times, Suddenly, and without the slightest warning, Exceedingly happy. On a morning otherwise sunless, Strolling arm in arm Past some gallows-shaped trees With my dear Helen, Who is also a strange bird, With a feeling of being summoned Urgently, but by a […]...
14. The Paper Nautilus For authorities whose hopes Are shaped by mercenaries? Writers entrapped by Teatime fame and by Commuters’ comforts? Not for these The paper nautilus Constructs her thin glass shell. Giving her perishable Souvenir of hope, a dull White outside and smooth- Edged inner surface Glossy as the sea, the watchful Maker of it guards it Day […]...
15. I showed her Heights she never saw I showed her Heights she never saw “Would’st Climb,” I said? She said “Not so” “With me ” I said With me? I showed her Secrets Morning’s Nest The Rope the Nights were put across And now “Would’st have me for a Guest?” She could not find her Yes And then, I brake my life […]...
16. The Storming of the Dargai Heights ‘Twas on the 20th of November, and in the year of 1897, That the cheers of the Gordon Highlanders ascended to heaven, As they stormed the Dargai heights without delay, And made the Indian rebels fly in great dismay. “Men of the Gordon Highlanders,” Colonel Mathias said, “Now, my brave lads, who never were afraid, […]...
17. Daybreak In Alabama When I get to be a composer I’m gonna write me some music about Daybreak in Alabama And I’m gonna put the purtiest songs in it Rising out of the ground like a swamp mist And falling out of heaven like soft dew. I’m gonna put some tall tall trees in it And the scent […]...
18. Tortoise Gallantry Making his advances He does not look at her, nor sniff at her, No, not even sniff at her, his nose is blank. Only he senses the vulnerable folds of skin That work beneath her while she sprawls along In her ungainly pace, Her folds of skin that work and row Beneath the earth-soiled hovel […]...
19. The Tortoise in Eternity Within my house of patterned horn I sleep in such a bed As men may keep before they’re born And after when they’re dead. Sticks and stones may break their bones, And words may make them bleed; There is not one of them who owns An armour to his need. Tougher than hide or lozenged […]...
20. In Bertram's Garden Jane looks down at her organdy skirt As if it somehow were the thing disgraced, For being there, on the floor, in the dirt, And she catches it up about her waist, Smooths it out along one hip, And pulls it over the crumpled slip. On the porch, green-shuttered, cool, Asleep is Bertram that bronze […]...
21. There Are Not Many Kingdoms Left I write the lips of the moon upon her shoulders. In a Temple of silvery farawayness I guard her to rest. For her bed I write a stillness over all the swans of the World. With the morning breath of the snow leopard I Cover her against any hurt. Using the pen of rivers and […]...
22. The Space Coast Florida An Airedale rolling through green frost, Cabbage palms pointing their accusing leaves At whom, petulant waves breaking at my feet. I ran from them. Nights, yellow lights Scoured sand. What was ever found But women in skirts folded around the men They loved that Friday? No one found me. And how could that have […]...
23. Nomad Exquisite As the immense dew of Florida Brings forth The big-finned palm And green vine angering for life, As the immense dew of Florida Brings forth hymn and hymn From the beholder, Beholding all these green sides And gold sides of green sides, And blessed mornings, Meet for the eye of the young alligator, And lightning […]...
24. Romance Moderne Tracks of rain and light linger in The spongy greens of a nature whose Flickering mountain-bulging nearer, Ebbing back into the sun Hollowing itself away to hold a lake,- Or brown stream rising and falling at the roadside, turning about, Churning itself white, drawing Green in over it,-plunging glassy funnels Fall – And-the other world […]...
25. Not yet 40, my beard is already white Not yet 40, my beard is already white. Not yet awake, my eyes are puffy and red, Like a child who has cried too much. What is more disagreeable Than last night’s wine? I’ll shave. I’ll stick my head in the cold spring and Look around at the pebbles. Maybe I can eat a can […]...
26. "I Love You Sweatheart&quot A man risked his life to write the words. A man hung upside down (an idiot friend Holding his legs?) with spray paint To write the words on a girder fifty feet above A highway. And his beloved, The next morning driving to work…? His words are not (meant to be) so unique. Does she […]...
27. My Favoured Fare Some poets sing of scenery; Some to fair maids make sonnets sweet. A fig for love and greenery, Be mine a song of things to eat. Let brother bards divinely dream, I’m just plain human, as you see; And choose to carol such a theme As ham and eggs and tea. Just two fried eggs […]...
28. To Jane The keen stars were twinkling, And the fair moon was rising among them, Dear Jane. The guitar was tinkling, But the notes were not sweet till you sung them Again. As the moon’s soft splendour O’er the faint cold starlight of Heaven Is thrown, So your voice most tender To the strings without soul had […]...
29. The Hangman at Home WHAT does the hangman think about When he goes home at night from work? When he sits down with his wife and Children for a cup of coffee and a Plate of ham and eggs, do they ask Him if it was a good day’s work And everything went well or do they Stay off […]...
30. The Argument Of His Book I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers. I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes, Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal-cakes. I write of youth, of love, and have access By these to sing of cleanly wantonness. I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by […]...
31. After Auschwitz Anger, As black as a hook, Overtakes me. Each day, Each Nazi Took, at 8:00 A. M., a baby And sauteed him for breakfast In his frying pan. And death looks on with a casual eye And picks at the dirt under his fingernail. Man is evil, I say aloud. Man is a flower That […]...
32. The Open Sea From my window I can see, Where the sandhills dip, One far glimpse of open sea. Just a slender slip Curving like a crescent moon – Yet a greater prize Than the harbour garden-fair Spread beneath my eyes. Just below me swings the bay, Sings a sunny tune, But my heart is far away Out […]...
33. Topography After we flew across the country we Got in bed, laid our bodies Delicately together, like maps laid Face to face, East to West, my San Francisco against your New York, your Fire Island against my Sonoma, my New Orleans deep in your Texas, your Idaho Bright on my Great Lakes, my Kansas Burning against […]...
34. After Us I don’t know if we’re in the beginning Or in the final stage. Tomas Tranströmer Rain is falling through the roof. And all that prospered under the sun, The books that opened in the morning And closed at night, and all day Turned their pages to the light; The sketches of boats and strong forearms […]...
35. In Fountain Court The fountain murmuring of sleep, A drowsy tune; The flickering green of leaves that keep The light of June; Peace, through a slumbering afternoon, The peace of June. A waiting ghost, in the blue sky, The white curved moon; June, hushed and breathless, waits, and I Wait too, with June; Come, through the lingering afternoon, […]...
36. Last Words If the shoe fell from the other foot Who would hear? If the door Opened onto a pure darkness And it was no dream? If your life Ended the way a book ends With half a blank page and the survivors Gone off to Africa or madness? If my life ended in late spring Of […]...
37. PUBLISHERS And then they pretend like owls With marble eyes and wizened stupidity I do not know why they cannot perceive True art But I will write Until sand evaporates And the moon consumes the sun I will write Even for the sake of art For myself and for those who feel Reading could lift them […]...
38. Bring me the sunset in a cup Bring me the sunset in a cup, Reckon the morning’s flagons up And say how many Dew, Tell me how far the morning leaps Tell me what time the weaver sleeps Who spun the breadth of blue! Write me how many notes there be In the new Robin’s ecstasy Among astonished boughs How many trips […]...
39. Mammy Hums THIS is the song I rested with: The right shoulder of a strong man I leaned on. The face of the rain that drizzled on the short neck of a canal boat. The eyes of a child who slept while death went over and under. The petals of peony pink that fluttered in a shot […]...
40. Giving Myself Up I give up my eyes which are glass eggs. I give up my tongue. I give up my mouth which is the contstant dream of my tongue. I give up my throat which is the sleeve of my voice. I give up my heart which is a burning apple. I give up my lungs which […]...