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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508985" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Apology For Bad Dreams</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I<br>In the purple light, heavy with redwood, the slopes drop seaward,<br>Headlong convexities of forest, drawn in together to the steep<br>ravine. Below, on the sea-cliff,<br>A lonely clearing; a little field of corn by the streamside; a roof<br>under spared trees. Then the ocean<br>Like a great stone someone has cut to a sharp edge and polished<br>to shining. Beyond it, the fountain<br>And furnace of incredible light flowing up from the sunk sun.<br>In the little clearing a woman<br>Is punishing a horse; she had tied the halter to a sapling at the<br>edge of the wood, but when the great whip<br>Clung to the flanks the creature kicked so hard she feared he<br>would snap the halter; she called from the house<br>The young man her son; who fetched a chain tie-rope, they<br>working together<br>Noosed the small rusty links round the horse's tongue<br>And tied him by the swollen tongue to the tree.<br>Seen from this height they are shrunk to insect size.<br>Out of all human relation. You cannot distinguish<br>The blood dripping from where the chain is fastened,<br>The beast shuddering; but the thrust neck and the legs<br>Far apart. You can see the whip fall on the flanks . . .<br>The gesture of the arm. You cannot see the face of the woman.<br>The enormous light beats up out of the west across the cloud-bars<br>of the trade-wind. The ocean<br>Darkens, the high clouds brighten, the hills darken together.<br>Unbridled and unbelievable beauty<br>Covers the evening world . . . not covers, grows apparent out<br>of it, as Venus down there grows out<br>From the lit sky. What said the prophet? 'I create good: and<br>I create evil: I am the Lord.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II<br>This coast crying out for tragedy like all beautiful places,<br>(The quiet ones ask for quieter suffering: but here the granite cliff<br>the gaunt cypresses crown<br>Demands what victim? The dykes of red lava and black what<br>Titan? The hills like pointed flames<br>Beyond Soberanes, the terrible peaks of the bare hills under the<br>sun, what immolation? )<br>This coast crying out for tragedy like all beautiful places: and<br>like the passionate spirit of humanity<br>Pain for its bread: God's, many victims', the painful deaths, the<br>horrible transfigurements: I said in my heart,<br>'Better invent than suffer: imagine victims<br>Lest your own flesh be chosen the agonist, or you<br>Martyr some creature to the beauty of the place.' And I said,<br>'Burn sacrifices once a year to magic<br>Horror away from the house, this little house here<br>You have built over the ocean with your own hands<br>Beside the standing boulders: for what are we,<br>The beast that walks upright, with speaking lips<br>And little hair, to think we should always be fed,<br>Sheltered, intact, and self-controlled? We sooner more liable<br>Than the other animals. Pain and terror, the insanities of desire;<br>not accidents but essential,<br>And crowd up from the core:' I imagined victims for those<br>wolves, I made them phantoms to follow,<br>They have hunted the phantoms and missed the house. It is not<br>good to forget over what gulfs the spirit<br>Of the beauty of humanity, the petal of a lost flower blown<br>seaward by the night-wind, floats to its quietness.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III<br>Boulders blunted like an old bear's teeth break up from the<br>headland; below them<br>All the soil is thick with shells, the tide-rock feasts of a dead<br>people.<br>Here the granite flanks are scarred with ancient fire, the ghosts<br>of the tribe<br>Crouch in the nights beside the ghost of a fire, they try to remember<br>the sunlight,<br>Light has died out of their skies. These have paid something for<br>the future<br>Luck of the country, while we living keep old griefs in memory:<br>though God's<br>Envy is not a likely fountain of ruin, to forget evils calls down<br>Sudden reminders from the cloud: remembered deaths be our<br>redeemers;<br>Imagined victims our salvation: white as the half moon at midnight<br>Someone flamelike passed me, saying, 'I am Tamar Cauldwell,<br>I have my desire,'<br>Then the voice of the sea returned, when she had gone by, the<br>stars to their towers.<br>. . . Beautiful country burn again, Point Pinos down to the<br>Sur Rivers<br>Burn as before with bitter wonders, land and ocean and the<br>Carmel water.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV<br>He brays humanity in a mortar to bring the savor<br>From the bruised root: a man having bad dreams, who invents<br>victims, is only the ape of that God.<br>He washes it out with tears and many waters, calcines it with<br>fire in the red crucible,<br>Deforms it, makes it horrible to itself: the spirit flies out and<br>stands naked, he sees the spirit,<br>He takes it in the naked ecstasy; it breaks in his hand, the atom<br>is broken, the power that massed it<br>Cries to the power that moves the stars, 'I have come home to<br>myself, behold me.<br>I bruised myself in the flint mortar and burnt me<br>In the red shell, I tortured myself, I flew forth,<br>Stood naked of myself and broke me in fragments,<br>And here am I moving the stars that are me.'<br>I have seen these ways of God: I know of no reason<br>For fire and change and torture and the old returnings.<br>He being sufficient might be still. I think they admit no reason;<br>they are the ways of my love.<br>Unmeasured power, incredible passion, enormous craft: no<br>thought apparent but burns darkly<br>Smothered with its own smoke in the human brain-vault: no<br>thought outside: a certain measure in phenomena:<br>The fountains of the boiling stars, the flowers on the foreland,<br>the ever-returning roses of dawn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robinson+Jeffers">Robinson Jeffers</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=508985" data-title="Apology For Bad Dreams de Robinson Jeffers" data-description="I
In the purple light, heavy with redwood, the slopes drop seaward,
Headlong convexities of forest, drawn in together to the steep
ravine. Below, on the sea-cliff,
A lonely clearing; a little field of corn by the streamside; a roof
under spared tr..."></div>
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