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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=544903" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An African Elegy</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the groves of Africa from their natural wonder <br>the wildebeest, zebra, the okapi, the elephant, <br>have enterd the marvelous. No greater marvelous <br>know I than the mind’s <br>natural jungle. The wives of the Congo <br>distil there their red and the husbands <br>hunt lion with spear and paint Death-spore <br>on their shields, wear his teeth, claws and hair <br>on ordinary occasions. There the Swahili <br>open his doors, let loose thru the trees <br>the tides of Death’s sound and distil <br>from their leaves the terrible red. He <br>is the consort of dreams I have seen, heard <br>in the orchestral dark <br>like the barking of dogs. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Death is the dog-headed man zebra striped <br>and surrounded by silence who walks like a lion, <br>who is black. It was his voice crying come back, <br>that Virginia Woolf heard, turnd <br>her fine skull, hounded and haunted, stopt, <br>pointed into the scent where <br>I see her in willows, in fog, at the river of sound <br>in the trees. I see her prepare there <br>to enter Death’s mountains <br>like a white Afghan hound pass into the forest, <br>closed after, let loose in the leaves <br>with more grace than a hound and more wonder there <br>even with flowers wound in her hair, allowing herself <br>like Ophelia a last <br>pastoral gesture of love toward the world. <br>And I see <br>all our tortures absolved in the fog, <br>dispersed in Death’s forests, forgotten. I see <br>all this gentleness like a hound in the water <br>float upward and outward beyond my dark hand. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>I am waiting this winter for the more complete black-out, <br>for the negro armies in the eucalyptus, for the cities <br>laid open and the cold in the love-light, for hounds <br>women and birds to go back to their forests and leave us <br>our solitude.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">. . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Negroes, negroes, all those princes, <br>holding cups of rhinoceros bone, make <br>magic with my blood. Where beautiful Marijuana <br>towers taller than the eucalyptus, turns <br>within the lips of night and falls, <br>falls downward, where as giant Kings we gathered <br>and devourd her burning hands and feet, O Moonbar <br>thee and Clarinet! those talismans <br>that quickened in their sheltering leaves like thieves, <br>those Negroes, all those princes <br>holding to their mouths like Death <br>the cups of rhino bone, <br>were there to burn my hands and feet, <br>divine the limit of the bone and with their magic <br>tie and twist me like a rope. I know <br>no other continent of Africa more dark than this <br>dark continent of my breast. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>And when we are deserted there, <br>when the rustling electric has passt thru the air, <br>once more we begin in the blind and blood throat <br>the African catches; and Desdemona, Desdemona <br>like a demon wails within our bodies, warns <br>against this towering Moor of self and then <br>laments her passing from him. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>And I cry, Hear! <br>Hear in the coild and secretive ear <br>the drums that I hear beat. The Negroes, all those princes <br>holding cups of bone and horn, are there in halls <br>of blood that I call forests, in the dark <br>and shining caverns where <br>beats heart and pulses brain, in <br>jungles of my body, there <br>Othello moves, striped black and white, <br>the dog-faced fear. Moves I, I, I, <br>whom I have seen as black as Orpheus, <br>pursued deliriously his sound and drownd <br>in hunger’s tone, the deepest wilderness. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Then it was I, Death singing, <br>who bewildered the forest. I thot him <br>my lover like a hound of great purity <br>disturbing the shadow and flesh of the jungle. <br>This was the beginning of the ending year. <br>From all of the empty the tortured appear, <br>and the bird-faced children crawl out of their fathers <br>and into that never filld pocket, <br>the no longer asking but silent, seeing nowhere <br>the final sleep. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The halls of Africa we seek in dreams <br>as barriers of dream against the deep, and seas <br>disturbd turn back upon their tides <br>into the rooms deserted at the roots of love. <br>There is no end. And how sad then <br>is even the Congo. How the tired sirens <br>come up from the water, not to be toucht <br>but to lie on the rocks of the thunder. <br>How sad then is even the marvelous!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Duncan">Robert Duncan</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=544903" data-title="An African Elegy de Robert Duncan" data-description="In the groves of Africa from their natural wonder 
the wildebeest, zebra, the okapi, the elephant, 
have enterd the marvelous. No greater marvelous 
know I than the mind’s 
natural jungle. The wives of the Congo 
distil there their red and the h..."></div>
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