Thursday, September 17, 2009
The Poet as Archaeologist
This man smiles at the coming of autumn,
The silence of cicadas makes him laugh;
even the wind-scatter of leaves pleases him.
Tired of digging in, he is digging out
from under the ruins of his measured words,
while his ancestors, having escaped him,
turn round and smile at the distance between.
(from Sentences, 1976)
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A masterwork, my friend.
ReplyDeleteTHE DISTANCE UNCOVERED
ReplyDeleteMy friend,
After thanking you
Humbly, this novice beseeches you
To answer: How far is it
Between a master at work
And the work of a master?
From here to the asylum door. A shame we don’t have the key!
ReplyDelete