From each one in the harsh 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 pulse is felt throughout the land,
Its rhythms mimicked by the priests,
Its regulations etched on sleep
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,
Though our bodies be of infirm flesh,
It is of bread that we would eat.
Though our thoughts are slaves 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, our avenues and streets,
To gird the very globe with grids,
And make our maps, and take our measures,
And strew the stars with our fields’ myriad,
Grown from one, in the harsh soil, our single treasure.
[from The Book of Hours The Algarve, Portugal, 1979 -- British Columbia, 2005]
Posted by Vanderleun at May 3, 2014 11:06 PM
God's hands on your keyboard again, Gerard?
Posted by: Raincityjazz at August 8, 2010 8:58 AMStunning.
Posted by: Gloria at August 8, 2010 10:22 AMNice, very nice.
Posted by: Pappy at August 8, 2010 10:52 AMHey, that is a good one.
It scans nice--nice rythmic meter; kinda has a to-and-fro of stalks blown in the wind (body of breath). Whiteness of the wafer (of bread which transmutes to flesh).
The imagery is great: With tasting fruit posed against "The Garden" and then a wilderness that "yields only flesh" (I love that part).
You have me thinking of the cuneiform tablets of grain bills from Sumer and Ur...
Indeed, "And from such sheaves deduce the laws
Of war and wealth and God"
You can't really build temples, towns and paved streets hunting animals, can you?
A simple, seminal, idea artfully revealed in pleasant verse. Really good.
It made my day a little better and gave me something nice to consider. I wanna memorize it and bust it our at the occasional poetry discussions that occur in my crowd.
Thanks.
Posted by: Gray at August 8, 2010 8:48 PM
You have no idea how pleased I am you caught the cuneiform reference and Sumer and Ur.
Now if only someone would catch the image behind what stands at the 30th meridian at the pivot of the Earth my work would be done.
Posted by: vanderleun at August 8, 2010 9:27 PMAre you a Buddhist, Gerard?
Posted by: Jewel at August 8, 2010 9:58 PMThat was stupid of me, sir.
I smile at my own ineptitude in these matters. But if I were to hazard a high schooler's guess, I would say the answer is the Cross.
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.
I would have to guess that refers to the Nile delta and the Sphinx, although they're closer to the 31st meridian per Google Earth.
/Yes, I'm not a poet. Can you tell?
Posted by: rickl at August 8, 2010 11:21 PMTwo things: the Nile produces some of the most fertile land in the world, and Alexandria is there at the delta, right on the 30th Meridian East.
A side observation: the likely torchbearers at the burning of the Great Library, adherents of the religion of pieces, are the same buffoons who took Greek and Roman farming technology and did absolutely nothing to improve it for 700 years.
Posted by: Raincityjazz at August 9, 2010 12:04 AMRaincityjazz:
Yes, I noticed that Alexandria is on the 30th meridian, but I don't know what the "five white fingers of that marble hand" means in that case.
But looking at the photo on Google Earth, the Sphinx does almost look like it's grasping the Nile River immediately south of the fan of the delta.
Posted by: rickl at August 9, 2010 12:36 AMWow ... something else I can't do. Excellent.
Posted by: TRKOF at August 9, 2010 5:44 AMFrom the limited research I've been able to do, it appears that there are four possible culprits for the burning of the Library - two sets of Romans, possibly Muslims, but much more likely Christians under the command of Theodosius in 391 AD.
The Muslims are responsible for much destruction, but not that crime. Probably.
Posted by: Fletcher Christian at August 9, 2010 6:21 AMNow if only someone would catch the image behind what stands at the 30th meridian at the pivot of the Earth my work would be done.
Headwaters of the White Nile. The Mountains of the Moon.
The fountainhead of the Nile surge that floods the delta and gives us the "5 gold inches"....
I've read my Burton and Sir Samuel Baker.
I'm tellin' ya: this poem is right in my wheelhouse.... Love it.
Excellent. The "five gold inches" refers to the legendary capstone of the Great Pyramid which I read of somewhere but which is also referred to here:
http://www.hiddenmysteries.org/themagazine/vol9/articles/pyramidark.shtml
"It originally stood about 481feet (147 meters) in height when it had its topmost stones (Capstone), which according to some mystics was made of gold."
Posted by: vanderleun at August 10, 2010 9:56 AMI reiterate my praise above.
And, it is fitting that I'm reading it again with a mug of ale homebrewed from grains.
This is a Big Poem; it rewards contemplation. Reading it, I feel a small touch (a grain) of The Eternal. With tending, it grows. From the Roots of my Soul: Thank you.
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