Monday, 11 of December of 2017

Tag » wild

Carl Sandburg – Wilderness

Wolves.bobchoat.files
httptruelaurels.files.wordpress.comThere is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

GutenbergThere is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

yellow10There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

olivebaboon2There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot’s hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

Sea_EagleThere is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

Carl Sandburg


Andrei Voznesensky – Beaver’s Lament

BeacerFace
Ginsberg-Voznesensky-in-Mexico-City-1981Strolling one evening through a swamp,
I met a beaver. He began to blubber.
His red enamel front tooth
stuck out–
a pathetic emergency brake.

Rising on hind legs, wrinkling his brow
(they have scaly flat tails), he gushed forth,
mustachiod naiad of the north.
“Come on,” I said, “now let me pass!”

(They have a way, the whining beasts:
As soon as you approach their lodge,
they confront the bulldozer
and start to sob
till the driver takes pity and runs away.

An entire family comes forth, with clasped paws,
shielding their roof from destruction:
“Against your power
we have tears–
our whine to match your engine’s whine.”)

Tears in the eyes of this aging child
stand in my way. What do you think you are?
Some old broken village pump?
Come on, please, let me pass.

Did he sob for the water that seeped away?
Or for something else he wished to save?
Did he sob to avenge his wasted land?
His tears were clearly in my way.

Why were my knees then giving way?
They have never given way so far–
not for widows weeping on the phone,
nor for the mad tears of an aging czar.

Or have all the creeks and streams
moved in to block the road,
8790643_origcarrying
a weeping icon
of the Mother of God
to bring their arch enemy to his senses?

Beavers, be with me in beastly places
in coming years,
be brave, be sound,
you weeping
and reproachful beavers,
Be beavers, beavers who stand your ground.

Let no one pass–block every step.
Let no one pass–cut off the road.
Let no one encroach upon these tears.
Let them be inviolable, O Lord….

I cursed the beast. I beat him with my stick,
turned back from him in a fit of rage,
but behind me another beaver sprang up weeping–
another impassable barrier of tears.

translated by William Jay Smith and Vera Dunham


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