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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=431918" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Elegy For Poe With The Music Of A Carnival Inside It</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There is this sunny place where I imagine him.<br>A park on a hill whose grass wants to turn<br>Into dust, & would do so if it weren't<br>For the rain, & the fact that it is only grass<br>That keeps the park from flowing downhill past<br>Its trees & past the slender figures in the statues.<br>Their stone blends in with the sky when the sky<br>Is overcast. The stone is a kind of rain,<br>And half the soldiers trapped inside the stone<br>Are dead. The others have deserted, & run home.<br>At this time in the morning, half sun, half mist,<br>There are usually three or four guys sprawled<br>Alone on benches facing away from one another.<br>If they're awake, they look as if they haven't slept.<br>If they're asleep, they look as if they may not wake....<br>I only imagine it as a sunny place. If they're<br>Awake, they gaze off as if onto a distant landscape,<br>Not at the warehouses & the freeway the hill overlooks,<br>Not onto Jefferson Avenue where, later, they'll try<br>To score a little infinity wrapped up in tinfoil,<br>Or a flake of heaven tied up in a plastic bag<br>And small as their lives are now, but at a city<br>That is not the real city gradually appearing<br>As the mist evaporates, For in the real city,<br>One was kicked in the ribs by a night watchman<br>Until he couldn't move. Another was<br>A small time dealer until he lost his nerve,<br>And would have then become a car thief, if only<br>The car had started. And the last failed to appear,<br>Not only for a court date, but for life itself.<br>In these ways, they are like Poe if Poe had lived<br>Beyond composing anything, & had been kicked to death<br>And then dismembered in this park, his limbs<br>Thrown as far away from what was left of him<br>As they could be thrown. And they are not like Poe.<br>The three of them stare off at a city that is there<br>In the distance, where they are loved for no<br>Clear reason, a city they walk toward when<br>They are themselves again, a city<br>That vanishes each morning in the pale light.<br>Poe would have admired them, & pitied them.<br>For Poe detested both the real city with its traffic<br>Crawling over the bridges, & the city that vanishes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">~ ~ ~</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In autumn the rain slants & flesh turns white.<br>The tents go up again on the edge of town, &,<br>In the carny's spiel, everyone gets lost,<br>And Poe, dismembered, becomes no more than the moral<br>In the story of his life, the cautionary tale<br>No better than the sideshow where the boy<br>With sow's hoofs instead of hands, taps the glass—<br>Some passing entertainment for the masses.<br>In the carny's spiel, everyone lost comes<br>Back again. Even Poe comes back to see<br>Himself, disfigured, in another. That is what<br>He's doing here, longing to mingle, invisibly,<br>With the others on the crowded midway as they lick<br>Their cotton candy, & stare expressionlessly<br>At one another. He wants to see the woman<br>Who has fins instead of arms, & the man without<br>A mouth. He wants to see the boy behind glass<br>And his own clear reflection in the glass.<br>The carnival's so close, only a few blocks,<br>That he can hear the intermittent off key music<br>Wheezing faintly out of the merry-go-round....<br>It might as well be music from the moon.<br>The traffic never lets him cross. The weeks pass,<br>And then the months, & then the years with their wars<br>And the marquees going blank above the streets<br>Because no one comes anymore. And the crowd,<br>Filing into the little tent, watches suspiciously,<br>For the crowd believes in nothing now but disbelief.<br>And therefore, at the intersection of radiance<br>And death, the intersection of the real city<br>And the one that vanishes, Poe is pausing<br>In the midst of traffic, one city inside the other.<br>The rain slants. The flesh is a white dust.<br>The cars pass slowly through him, & the boy keeps<br>Tapping at the glass, unable to tell his story.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Larry+Levis">Larry Levis</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=431918" data-title="Elegy For Poe With The Music Of A Carnival Inside It de Larry Levis" data-description="There is this sunny place where I imagine him.
A park on a hill whose grass wants to turn
Into dust, & would do so if it weren't
For the rain, & the fact that it is only grass
That keeps the park from flowing downhill past
Its trees & past the sle..."></div>
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