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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=431921" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Elegy With A Chimneysweep Falling Inside It</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Those twenty-six letters filling the blackboard <br>Compose the dark, compose <br>The illiterate summer sky & its stars as they appear </div><div style="margin:10px 0">One by one, above the schoolyard. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If the soul had a written history, nothing would have happened: <br>A bird would still be riding the back of a horse, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the horse would go on grazing in a field, & the gleaners, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">At one with the land, the wind, the sun examining <br>Their faces, would go on working, </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Each moment forgotten in the swipe of a scythe. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>But the walls of the labyrinth have already acquired <br>Their rose tint from the blood of slaves <br>Crushed into the stone used to build them, & the windows </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Of stained glass are held in place by the shriek </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>And sighing body of a falling chimneysweep through <br>The baked & blackened air. This ash was once a village, </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>That snowflake, time itself. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>But until the day it is permitted to curl up in a doorway, <br>And try to sleep, the snow falling just beyond it, </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>There’s nothing for it to do: </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The soul rests its head in its hands & stares out <br>From its desk at the trash-littered schoolyard, </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>It stays where it was left. <br>When the window fills with pain, the soul bears witness, <br>But it doesn’t write. Nor does it write home </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Having no need to, having no home. <br>In this way, & in no other </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Was the soul gradually replaced by the tens of thousands <br>Of things meant to represent it— </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>All of which proclaimed, or else lamented, its absence. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Until, in the drone of auditoriums & lecture halls, it became <br>No more than the scraping of a branch <br>Against the side of a house, no more than the wincing </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Of a patient on a couch, or the pinched, nasal tenor <br>Of the strung-out addict’s voice, </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>While this sound of scratching, this tapping all night, <br>Enlarging the quiet instead of making a music within it, </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Is just a way of joining one thing to another, </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Myself to whoever it is—sitting there in the schoolroom, </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Sitting there while also being led through the schoolyard <br>Where prisoners are exercising in the cold light— </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>A way of joining or trying to join one thing to another, <br>So that the stillness of the clouds & the sky </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Opening beneath the blindfold of the prisoner, & the cop <br>Who leads him toward it, toward the blank </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Sail of the sky at the end of the world, are bewildered </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>So that everything, in this moment, bewilders </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Them: the odd gentleness each feels in the hand <br>Of the other, & how they don’t stop walking, not now </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Not for anything.</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=431921" data-title="Elegy With A Chimneysweep Falling Inside It de Larry Levis" data-description="Those twenty-six letters filling the blackboard 
Compose the dark, compose 
The illiterate summer sky & its stars as they appear 

One by one, above the schoolyard. 

If the soul had a written history, nothing would have happened: 
A bird would st..."></div>
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