TO A VIRGINIA BLUEBELL

  

You nod to me across the trail

That runs before my garden seat.

With clustered bells of blue you greet

My visit with a subtle peal.

 

You wave your frolic fans of green

So gaily, as if you had met

Some kinsman or awaited yet

A long lost friend to grace the scene.

 

A friend indeed this scene has graced,

Projecting in his mental sight

A sphere within which Nature’s face

Beams out as with a mirror’s light.

 

Long lost no more, now recognized,

My roots beside yours in the earth,

Together we unite in mirth—

While botanists but classify.

 

Some people blow that way and this,

Whichever way the wind doth blow:

Some people fly like April snow,

And say you have no consciousness—

 

Unlike themselves, whose knowledge glues

Each specimen with abstract frame.

They see things but as things are named:

Myself, I share one Mind with you.

 

And I to you must nod my head,

Assenting with the voice of Spring

That tinkles from my bells and sings

Blue music in our flower bed!

 

 

SHAKESPEARE

 

The Master strolled upon the beach,

And stooped to find

Among the shells washed up in heaps,

Mere husks of Mind—

 

Selecting them to suit his sense

Of what would score

To entertain an audience

That roared for more.

 

But did he ever come to know

Whence flowed his Art?

In all his dramas and his poems,

This plays no part.

 

For I have put him to the test,

And placed his shell

Beside my ear, and tried to guess

What he might tell.

 

But past the echoes of his voice

I could not hear.

Though all his Art made me rejoice,

The end was clear:

 

To charm me whilst he struts his hour

Upon the stage—

His tales evolved by that same power

My dreams engage.

 

Then I to the one source of being

As close may stand,

Or closer than he to the stream

That moved his hand.

 

Refute me with my own poor lines:

This dog, perforce,

Devours the carcass of the lion

And barks his roar.

 

 

   JUST LIKE AMERICA

  

Smarting with five wasp stings,

I strolled about Westminster Hall

through the rambling cemetery,

comparing the two graves of Poe--

 

while towering behind the church,

like an upstart promoted to supervisor,

a newly constructed office building

sneered down upon the Conqueror Worm.

 

That day was the Fourth of July.

That evening, in the Inner Harbor,

families huddled under umbrellas,

craned at fireworks in a drizzle.

 

Rockets soared from a nearby barge,

exploding just like America;

while above and beyond Federal Hill

and the Museum of Visionary Art,

 

another barge blew its pyrotechnics,

as in some parallel universe.

Slowly the rain soaked into the earth,

the grass, and the two graves of Poe.

 

          LIGHT SELLS

  

The agent told us to leave on a lamp

And open all the blinds. “Light sells,” she said.

“Stuffed animals that cluster on the bed,

Those pictures of the family: they stamp

The house with you and yours. When people tramp

The premises, they fail to see themselves,

Distracted by your knick-knacks on the shelves.

But light and empty space correct that slant.”

 

The Light is what I follow; so it seems

A quite appealing tactic to employ--

Though I have on occasion been deceived

By such displays as pledge domestic joy

That can be sold and bought and then possessed.

As time goes by, they fool me less and less.

 

THE TAWES GARDEN

  

The old pond, ah! A bullfrog somewhere croaks;

A snakelike rustle shakes the reedy grass.

Three boys about the age of Huck Finn pass

Beneath the overhanging boughs that choke

Each others’ sun and rain, and thickly cloak

My vantage point upon a hillside bench.

Unseen by them, I watch the three lads drench

Their boots and socks (up to their knees they’re soaked)

And slosh about the lily pads; no fear

Of snake or leech in the entangled roots.

I shut my book awhile as they draw near,

Not seeing me though almost at my foot.

A splash, and laughter echoes. Now the guard

Half-heartedly escorts them from the yard.

 

INSIDE OUT

  

Outside my window

rhododendrons blooming;

bees browsing busily;

unseen distant lawnmower’s music

merging with the airplane

that drowns birds’ sounds.

 

Last night outside my window

as I lay sleeping,

two trees were struck by lightning--

but my dreams were undisturbed.

 

Grass ankle deep

and covered with dew,

each drop reflecting dreams

of universes old and new.

 

 BY THE ROADSIDE

 

(after Chuang-Tsu and Bunan)

 

One evening on my way back home,

I spied a human skull

Bleached ghostly white, retaining still

Its former shape, wherein the will

To live had swelled its bones.

 

I tapped it with my walking cane,

And asked it, “Did you, Sir,

In all your greed for life, bestir

The twisting fibers of your nerves

To come to this in vain?

 

“What brought you here? A civil war,

Perhaps? or just old age--

Your grand finale on this stage

Of losing battles, where the wage

Can never compensate the scars?”

 

This said, I took it in my hands,

And underneath my head

I made a pillow for my bed

Among the weeds and trash that hid

My sleep from beast and man.

 

At midnight when the town clocks tolled,

That skull became my dream,

And whispered, “What you said to me

More like an orator beseems

Than one who sifts for gold!

 

“Your words described the way of life

Of men who drew their breaths

While in pursuit of happiness

And liberty, in spite of death

Preventing all their strife.

 

“But in the grave those baits and lures

Can never satisfy the Saints

Whose deaths take place without a taint;

Who wipe away the foolish paint

That masks a hollow core.

 

“Perhaps you’d like to hear me speak

About the end of woe.”

“Oh, tell me everything you know!”

The skull resumed, “In Death are no

Distinctions that men seek.

 

“No seasons waste each other there

With changes soon undone;

No phase of moon or fire of sun

Surpasses Wisdom’s light for ones

Who move beyond your sphere.”

 

I heard his words with skeptic doubts,

And said, “If magic arts

Could somehow cause you to depart

From your abyss, and take your part

Once more in your own house,

 

“With mother, father, wife and child,

And all your wealth and friends,

Would you refuse the chance to blend

With what you loved, to live again,

If only for a while?”

 

The skull stared fixedly at me,

And said, knitting its brows,

(This was a dream, remember now!)

“No one who casts away life’s shroud

Regains that misery.

 

“While living, be a dead man, then;

Be dead so through and through

That anything you think or do

Will be as though there were no you--

And dwell here as my friend.”