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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395303" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Fergus Falling</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He climbed to the top<br>of one of those million white pines<br>set out across the emptying pastures<br>of the fifties - some program to enrich the rich<br>and rebuke the forefathers<br>who cleared it all at once with ox and axe - <br>climbed to the top, probably to get out<br>of the shadow<br>not of those forefathers but of this father<br>and saw for the first time<br>down in its valley, Bruce Pond, giving off<br>its little steam in the afternoon,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">pond where Clarence Akley came on Sunday mornings to cut down<br> the cedars around the shore, I'd sometimes hear the slow spondees<br> of his work, he's gone,<br>where Milton Norway came up behind me while I was fishing and<br> stood awhile before I knew he was there, he's the one who put the<br> cedar shingles on the house, some have curled or split, a few have<br> blown off, he's gone,<br>where Gus Newland logged in the cold snap of '58, the only man will-<br> ing to go into those woods that never got warmer than ten below,<br> he's gone,<br>pond where two wards of hte state wandered on Halloween, the Na-<br> tional Guard searched for them in November, in vain, the next fall a <br> hunter found their skeletons huddled together, in vain, they're <br> gone,<br>pond where an old fisherman in a rowboat sits, drowning hooked<br> worms, when he goes he's replaced and is never gone,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and when Fergus<br>saw the pond for the first time<br>in the clear evening, saw its oldness down there<br>in its old place in the valley, he became heavier suddenly<br>in his bones<br>the way fledglings do just before they fly,<br>and the soft pine cracked. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I would not have heard his cry<br>if my electric saw had been working,<br>its carbide teeth speeding through the bland spruce of our time, or<br> burning<br>black arcs into some scavenged hemlock plank,<br>like dark circles under eyes<br>when the brain thinks too close to the skin,<br>but I was sawing by hand and I heard that cry<br>as though he were attacked; we ran out,<br>when we bent over him he said, &quot;Galway, In&eacute;s, I saw a pond!&quot;<br>His face went gray, his eyes fluttered close a frightening<br> moment. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yes - a pond<br>that lets off its mist<br>on clear afternoons of August, in that valley<br>to which many have come, for their reasons,<br>from which many have gone, a few for their reasons, most not,<br>where even now and old fisherman only the pinetops can see<br>sits in the dry gray wood of his rowboat, waiting for pickerel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Galway+Kinnell">Galway Kinnell</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=395303" data-title="Fergus Falling de Galway Kinnell" data-description="He climbed to the top
of one of those million white pines
set out across the emptying pastures
of the fifties - some program to enrich the rich
and rebuke the forefathers
who cleared it all at once with ox and axe - 
climbed to the top, probably t..."></div>
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