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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=373703" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>John</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Before he wrote a poem, he learned the measure<br>That living in the future gives a farm--<br>Propinquity of mules and cows, the charmed<br>Insouciance of hens, the fellowship,<br>At dawn, of seed-time and of harvest-time.<br>But when high noon gave way to evening, and<br>The fences lay, bent shadows, on the crops<br>And pastures to the yellowing trees, he felt<br>The presences he felt when, over rocks,<br>Through pools and where it wears the bank, the stream<br>Ran bright and dark at once, itself its shadow;<br>And suffered, in all he knew, the antagonists<br>Related in the Bible, in himself<br>And every new condition from the beginning,<br>As in the autumn leaf and summer prime.<br>Therefore he chose to live the only game<br>Worthy of repetition, in the likeness<br>Of someone like himself, a race of which<br>He was the changing distances and ground,<br>The runners, and the goal that runs away<br>Forever into time; or like two players<br>At odds in white and black, their dignities<br>Triumphs refused or losses unredeemed.<br>For the one, that it be ever of the pure<br>Intention that he witnessed in the high<br>Stained windows of King's Chapel--ancestral stories,<br>The old above the new, like pages shining<br>From an essential book--he taught his mind<br>To imitate the meditation, sovereign<br>In verse and prose, of those who shared with him<br>Intelligence of beauty, good, and truth<br>As one, unchanging and unchangeable,<br>Disinterested excitement through a sentence<br>Their joy and passion. For the other, as<br>A venturer asleep, he went among<br>The voiceless and unvisionary many--<br>Like one who offers blood to know his fate<br>Or hold his twin again--deep in the midnight<br>Baths of New Orleans, on its plural beds<br>And on the secret banks beside its river,<br>The many who, anonymous as he was,<br>Uncannily resembled him, appearing<br>Immortal in a finitude of mirrors.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But when the sudden force of the disease<br>Tossed him, in a new garment, on the bed<br>Where he had wakened, mornings, as a child--<br>Despised by all the neighbors, helpless, blind<br>And vulnerable to every life, he listened<br>Intensely to the roosters, mules and cows<br>As well as to the voices of the desk,<br>The chair, the books and pictures, pastures and fields,<br>The tree of every season, the age of seas<br>And, on its surge, the age of galaxies,<br>The bells within the spires of Cambridge, bodies<br>And faces revealed or hidden in the flow,<br>All that we knew or could imagine joined<br>Together in the sound the stream flows through<br>As witness of itself in every change,<br>Each trusting in its continuities,<br>All turning in a final radiant shell.<br>Then, on his darkened eye, he saw himself<br>A compact disk awhirl, played by the light<br>He came from and was ready to reenter,<br>But not before he chose the way to go.<br>And so it was, before his death, he spoke<br>The poem that is his best, the final letter<br>To take to that old country as a passport.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edgar+Bowers">Edgar Bowers</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=373703" data-title="John de Edgar Bowers" data-description="Before he wrote a poem, he learned the measure
That living in the future gives a farm--
Propinquity of mules and cows, the charmed
Insouciance of hens, the fellowship,
At dawn, of seed-time and of harvest-time.
But when high noon gave way to eveni..."></div>
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