“In pasture
where the leaf and wood
Were lorn
of all delicious apple,
And
underfoot a long and supple
Bough
leaned down to dip in mud,
I came
before the dark to stare
At a gray
nest blown in a swirl,
As in the
arm of a dead girl
Crippled
and torn and laid bare.” (Wright, “The Quest” 1951, p.3).
“So, as you
sleep, I seek your bed
And lay my
careful, quiet ear
Among the
nestings of your hair,
Against
your tenuous, fragile head,
And hear
the birds beneath your eyes
Stirrnig
for birth, and know the world
Immeasurably
alive and good,
Though bare
as rifted paradise.” (Wright, “The Quest” 1951, p.3).
“Odor of
fallen apple
Met you
across the air,
The yellow
globe lay purple
With
bruises underfoot;
And,
ravished out of thought,
Both of you
had your share,
Sharp nose
and watered mouth,
Of the dark
tang of earth.
Yet, body,
hold your humor
Away from
the tempting tree,
The grass,
the luring summer
That summon
the flesh to fall.
Be glad of
the green wall
You climbed
across one day,
When winter
stung with ice
That vacant
paradise.” (Wright, “A fit against the country” 1951, p.8).
“Sweet
earth, he ran and changed his shoes to go
Outside
with other children through the fields.
He panted
up the hills and swung from trees
Wild as a
beast but for the human laughter
That
tumbled like a cider down his cheeks.
Sweet
earth, the summer has been gone for weeks,
And weary
fish already sleeping under water
Below the
banks where early acorns freeze.
Receive his
flesh and keep it cured of colds.
Button his
coats and scarf his throat from snow.” (Wright, “Arrangement with earth for
three dead friends” 1951, p.17).
“The dark
began to climb the empty hill.
(…)
October blowing
dust, and summer gone
Into a dark
barn, like a hiding lover.” (Wright, “Eleutheria” 1951, p.27).
“Except for
walls of air the houses die
And fall…” (Wright, “The Assignation” 1951, p.41).
“I walked,
when love was gone,
Out of the
human town,
For an easy
breath of air.
Beyond a
break in the trees,
Beyond the
hangdog lives
Of old men,
beyond girls:
The tall
stars held their peace.
Looking in
vain for lies
I turned,
like earth, to go.
An owl’s
wings hovered, bare
On the moon’s
hills of snow.
And things
were as they were.” (Wright, “A breath of air” 1951, p.69).
“A Girl
Walking into a shadow
The mere
trees cast no coolness where you go
Your small
feet press no darkness into the grass.
I know your
weight of days, and mourn I know.
All hues
beneath the ground bare grayness.” (Wright, “A girl walking into a shadow”
1951, p.75).
“5.
Dreaming
- No, no!
And the dirtyneck boy starts crying
and running
Without getting
away, in a moment, on the streets.
His hands,
He’s got
something in his hands!
He doesn’t
know what it is, but he runs to the dawn
With his
hidden prize.
Endlessly
beforehand, we know what his trophy is:
Something ignored,
that the soul keeps awake in us.
We almost
start to glitter inside his gold
With extravagant
nakedness ….
- No, no!
And the dirtyneck boy starts crying
and running
Without getting
away, in a moment, on the street.
The arm is
strong, it could easily grab him …
The heart,
also a beggar, lets him go.” (Wright,
“Ten Short Poems” 1951, p.92).
“Anacreon’s
Grave
Here, where
the rose opens,
Where
delicate vines and bay leaves embrace each other,
Where the
young dove is calling,
Where the
little cricket is glad,
Whose grave
it this,
That all
the fods have planted and trimmed with
living things?
This is
Anacreon’s bed.
The happy
poet enjoyed spring, summer, and autumn;
Now this
small hill shelters him from the winter.” (Wright translating Goethe, “Anacreon’s
Grave” 1951, p.108).
“That man
standing there, who is he?
His path
lost in the thicket,
Behind him
the bushes
Lash back
together,
The grass
rises again,
The waste
devours him.” (Wright, “Three stanzas from Goethe” 1951, p.112).
“Over my
head, I see the bronze butterfly,
Asleep on
the black trunk,
Blowing
like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine
behind the empty house,
The cowbells
follow one another
Into the
distances of the afternoon.
To my
right,
In a field
of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings
of last year’s horses
Blaze up
into golden stones.
I lean
back, as the evening darkens and come son.
A chicken
hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have
wasted my life.” (Wright, “Lying in a hammock at William Duffy’s farm in pine
island, Minnesota” 1951, p.114).
“Beginnings
The moon
drops one or two feathers into the field
The dark
wheat listens.
Be still.
Now.” (Wright,
“Beginning” 1951, p.127).
“I renounce
the blinders of the magazines.
I want to
lie down under a tree.
This is the
only duty that is not death.
This is the
everlasting happiness
Of small
winds.” (Wright, “A prayer to escape from the market place” 1951, p.132).
“Rain
It is the
sinking of things.” (Wright, “Rain” 1951, p.133).
“I woke
Just about
daybreak, and fell back
In a
drowse.
A clean
leaf from one of the new cedars
Has blown
in through the open window.
How long
ago a huge shadow of wings pondering and hovering leaned down
To comfort
my face.
I don’t care
who loved me.
Somebody
did, so I let myself alone.” (Wright, “Poem to a brown cricket” 1951, p.188).
“Work be
damned, the kind
Of poetry I
want
Is to lie
down with my love.
All she is
Is a little
ripple of rain
On a small
waterfall.” (Wright, “Many of our waters: variations on a poem by a black
child” 1951, p.209).
