The Double Dream of Spring Read Online Free PDF Page B

of it
    Became a constant projected on the emigration.
    The tundra seemed elaborated.
    Then a permanent falling back shapes, signs the residue
    As a tiny wood fence’s the signature of disgust and decay
    On an otherwise concerned but unmoved, specially obtruded hill:
    Flatness of what remains
    And modelling of what fled,
    Decisions for a proper ramble into known but unimaginable, dense
    Fringe expecting night,
    A light wilderness of spoken words not
    Unkind for all their aimlessness,
    A blank chart of each day moving into the premise of difficult visibility
    And which is nowhere, the urge to nowhere,
    To retract that statement, sharply, within the next few minutes.
    For it is as though it turns you back,
    Your eyes through the recent happenings as they advance through you,
    Never satisfied on the way, but
    There is reasonable assurance in the way it is not seen again,
    Banging of the shuttle, repeated swipes of the wind,
    For the afterthought coincides: much of it was intentional.
    It is aloes to be remembered toward the place
    Out of which it grew like forest out of mountain, when later someone says there was no mountain
    Only roads, and stars hanging over them,
    Only a flat stone over the place where it says there is more.
    It is a low game, too tired to sleep,
    Feeling through equipment to the less developed:
    “You’ve gone and mixed me up
    I was happy just bumming along,
    Any old way, in and out, up and down.”
    The passion has left his head, and the head reports.
    And then some morning there is a nuance:
    Suddenly in the city dirt and varied
    Ideas of rubbish, the blue day stands and
    A sudden interest is there:
    Lying on the cot, near the tree-shadow,
    Out of the thirties having news of the true source:
    Face to kiss and the wonderful hair curling down
    Into margins that care and are swept up again like branches
    Into actual closeness
    And the little things that lighten the day
    The kindness of acts long forgotten
    Which give us history and faith
    And parting at night, next to oceans, like the collapse of dying.
    It is all noticed before it is too late
    But its immobility gives no comfort, only chapter headings and folio numbers
    And it can go on being divine in itself
    Neither treasured nor cast down in anger
    For we cannot imagine the truth of it.
    This deaf rasping of branch against branch
    Like a noncommittal sneer among many superimposed chimes
    As we go separate ways
    That have translated the foreground of paths into quoted spaces:
    They are empty beyond consternation because
    These are the droppings of all our lives
    And they recall no past de luxe quarters
    Only a last cube.
    The thieves were not breaking in, the castle was not being stormed.
    It was the holiness of the day that fed our notions
    And released them, sly breath of Eros,
    Anniversary on the woven city lament, that assures our arriving
    In hours, seconds, breath, watching our salary
    In the morning holocaust become one vast furnace, engaging all tears.

Definition of Blue
    The rise of capitalism parallels the advance of romanticism
    And the individual is dominant until the close of the nineteenth century.
    In our own time, mass practices have sought to submerge the personality
    By ignoring it, which has caused it instead to branch out in all directions
    Far from the permanent tug that used to be its notion of “home.”
    These different impetuses are received from everywhere
    And are as instantly snapped back, hitting through the cold atmosphere
    In one steady, intense line.
    There is no remedy for this “packaging” which has supplanted the old sensations.
    Formerly there would have been architectural screens at the point where the action became most difficult
    As a path trails off into shrubbery—confusing, forgotten, yet continuing to exist.
    But today there is no point in looking to imaginative new methods
    Since all of them are in constant use. The most that can be said for them further
    Is that erosion produces a kind of dust or