July 17, 2005

The Wheat Field

FROM EACH ONE in the hard soil a myriad are spun.
Sheaves of gold on bronze in files beneath the sun.
Is it towards the whiteness of the wafer
The field bends on autumn winds;
Towards the body which is breath not flesh
That the body which is only flesh
Scuffs its limbs upon the soil,
And fears at night tomorrow's toil,
And sees in dreams the shade of musk
The trumpets rising in the dusk?
Or is the seed of wheat enough,
Its own bronze parable of blood,
Enorbing in its nucleus
The architecture of the Ark,
The constant covenant of bread?

On the Thirtieth Meridian, at the pivot of the Earth,
A fan spreads out in silted twists
Pinned by five gold inches to the river's wrist,
And clasped by five white fingers of that marble hand.
Between the rise and fall of speech
The river's pulse is felt within the land,
Its rhythms mimicked by the priests,
Its regulations drawn on dirt
In circles, trisects, lines and cubes
Of numbers and of wheat,
Of incantations scratched on stone
That from their power we may eat
The bread, for we have tasted of the fruit,
And found it, if not sweet, of use
In surveying tombs and gardens that will suit.

The wilderness yields only flesh
Of fruit, or fowl, or hunted beast.
It cannot give us wheat and bread,
And it is bread that we would eat.
Though our bodies be of infirm flesh,
Our thoughts enslaved to blood and heat;
Though we scan the skies with eyes of beasts,
Still we would walk in fields of wheat,
And from such sheaves deduce the laws
Of war and wealth and God, and pause
To build our towns and temples, pave our streets,
And gird the very globe with grids,
And make our maps that take our measure,
And populate the final stars with a myriad
Grown from one, in the harsh soil, our single treasure.


[from The Book of Hours The Algarve, Portugal, 1979 - British Columbia, 2005]

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Posted by Vanderleun at July 17, 2005 9:24 AM | TrackBack
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AMERICAN DIGEST HOME
"It is impossible to speak in such a way that you cannot be misunderstood." -- Karl Popper N.B.: Comments are moderated and may not appear immediately. Comments that exceed the obscenity or stupidity limits will be either edited or expunged.

The gracefulness of your writing sometimes takes my breath away. That middle stanza--the beauty of the initial four lines, the sounds of the language--bliss.

Posted by: danae at July 17, 2005 10:31 PM

Absolutely wonderful. What a treat to visit your blog and find this--thank you!

Posted by: WillyShake at July 18, 2005 8:56 AM

Wow. You WROTE this? I am in awe. And you have given me a beautiful gift to take with me on my retreat tomorrow. I'm printing that out. Thanks!

Posted by: The Anchoress at July 18, 2005 9:18 PM
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"It is impossible to speak in such a way that you cannot be misunderstood." -- Karl Popper N.B.: Comments are moderated to combat spam and may not appear immediately. Comments that exceed the obscenity or stupidity limits will be either edited or expunged.










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