Thursday, 18 of January of 2018

Tag » childhood

Loren Eisely – The Snowstorm


‘It is the first and last snows – especially the last –
that blind us most,’ Thoreau once said, and I wonder
what he possibly could have been thinking since snow
is always with us and keeps falling
in its proper season,
the generations accepting it without first or last
save perhaps this:
There is a single snow which a child
stores in his memory, the first
snow when he falls in a drift, the first
snow that reveals secrets
like the flake on his sleeve
always to be remembered because it brought
knowledge of crystalline perfection, infinite diversity to be tested
with his own salt tears,
the immeasurable prodigality
of the universal worlds in which we are lost,
the first and blinding snow of childhood.
The view from the farm window, the last,
IceCavewith the black guest
waiting at the door
and outside
falling and falling
across corn shocks
wheat stubble
the whiteness of the void. Lucretius must so have seen his atoms,
out of them a world. A wind whipped the flakes aside, perhaps,
a snow flurry that conceived
a farmhouse kitchen
and a stove,
made fields,
made animals,
made men.
Look, can you say I am not composed of snowflakes?
My eyes are filled with them.
They are falling faster now.
Suppose I go
outside and join them.
Could you say that I
was ever here? No, no. The first blindness is to see the ultimate minute perfection.
SnowBabyThat is the illusion of the water drop.
The second is to believe
the black guest at the door.
My friend,
there is only the blindness of a million years of snowfall,
and you and I
wraiths, wraiths, discoursing as we fall.
Do not bother to throw up the window,
snow is already blowing
the room is disassembled,
our substance,
the room’s substance, is snowflakes;
we are falling apart now,
we have re-entered
the eternal storm.

Loren Eiseley

Raisa Kogan – Earthangels

people stomp their feet,
create a beat,
break down this life to
bee stings and butterfly wings
shut down the electronic angel
put your trust in green breath
lay your head down, let your hair
become dirty with twig and bead
in a tiny green piece of a silver world
it’s perfect how life here shares space and support,
bumblebee spreads the seeds and rain feeds the trees
new york city is pop-snap-tag,
lead weights in your backpack,
bic pen drumming as you meditate
why do people take more than we need?
why must we hurt somebody else for us to live?
these maniacs in business suits paint
more and more green to gray

some children picket and climb up the trees
yelling for dear life:
“we don’t need money to breathe”
“we don’t need money to love”
but, they are outnumbered
by those who only believe in one love
money grabbed out of a newborn’s hand
money’s green is worth more than nature’s
cutting down the amazon rainforest
for cocaine and hamburgers
another hour,
another tribe has no home
so many trees have fallen without sound
what will it take to wake up and hear them
till it’s your home

your special place
being cut down for money
till it’s the park where you played freezetag as a child
cut down to a parking lot
the weeping willow where you first kissed
the daisy field where you lay your head so many crazy summers
till it’s too late

Raisa Kogan
May-June 2003 Earth First!

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