EVENING SONG Back of Chicago the open fields-were you ever there? Streaks of light on the long grey plains? Many a song— I've got a grey and ragged brother in my breast- Back of Chicago the open fields—were you ever there? Clouds of dust on the long grey plains. Waiting to sing. AMERICAN SPRING SONG In the spring, when winds blew and farmers were plowing fields, It came into my mind to be glad because of my brutality. Along a street I went and over a bridge. I went through many streets in my city and over many bridges. Men and women I struck with my fists, and my hands began to bleed. Under a bridge I crawled, and stood trembling with joy At the river's edge. Because it was spring and soft sunlight came through the cracks of the bridge, I tried to understand myself. Out of the mud at the river's edge I molded myself a god A grotesque little god with a twisted face, A god for myself and my men. You see now, brother, how it was. I was a man with clothes made by a Jewish tailor; I wore a white collar and someone had given me a jeweled pin That amused and hurt me too. No one knew that I knelt in the mud beneath the bridge In the city of Chicago. You see I am whispering my secret to you. I want you to believe in my insanity and to understand that I love God That's what I want. And then, you see, it was spring, And soft sunlight came through the cracks of the bridge. I had been long alone in a strange place where no gods came. Creep, men, and kiss the twisted face of my mud god. I'm a twisted God myself. It is spring and love has come to me. A VISIT Westward the field of the cloth of gold. It is fall-see the gold in the dust of the fields. Lay the golden cloth upon me. It is night and I come through the streets to your window. The dust and the words are all gone, brushed away. Let me sleep. Walter Conrad Arensberg VOYAGE À L'INFINI The swan existing Is like a song with an accompaniment Imaginary. Across the glassy lake, Across the lake to the shadow of the willows, It is accompanied by an image As by Debussy's "Reflets dans l'eau." The swan that is Reflects Upon the solitary water-breast to breast With the duplicity: "The other one!" And breast to breast it is confused. O visionary wedding! O stateliness of the procession! It is accompanied by the image of itself Alone. At night The lake is a wide silence, Without imagination. AT DAYBREAK I had a dream and I awoke with it— Poor little thing that I had not unclasped And at the surface how it gasped— This thing that I had loved in the unlit Depth of the drowsy sea. Ah me! This thing with which I drifted toward the sky. Driftwood upon a wave Senseless the motion that it gave. TO HASEKAWA Perhaps it is no matter that you died. DIALOGUE Be patient, Life, when Love is at the gate, But if I let Love in I shall be late. O Life, be idle and let Love come in, And give thy dreamy hair that Love may spin. But Love himself is idle with his song. Be patient, Life, for Love is not the last. SONG OF THE SOULS SET FREE Wrap the earth in cloudy weather For a shroud. We have slipped the earthly tether, Peep and draw the cloud together, What can they be bowing under, Peep, and draw the cloud asunder, It will make them rise and wonder Mary Austin THE EAGLE'S SONG Said the Eagle: When my time came I was astonished To find that there was death; I felt cold sinking within me. Alas, my home Shall I leave it? All-beholding mountains, From your snowy stations Shall I see my house no more? North I went, Through the forest resounded The cry of the wounded doe. |