Algunos fragmentos poéticos

CANCIÓN DE LA TIERRA DE INVIERNO 


1 los hermosos hombres y mujeres jóvenes que se enfrentan con  valor contra la guerra ha hecho un lugar verde en mi corazón.

En la  oscuridad y  miseria del invierno la cara de la niña es una luna llena fresca y radiante con la verdad que adora, la Anunciación
La promesa que la fe mantiene
En la vida.

Siembran en la tierra oculta, afligido por el frío, ¡los espíritus del nuevo sol lo piden!

La cara de la Virgen es una estrella que asciende y en la brisa de su aliento
"El Sol-elemento, el Infante" se moldea asimismo por fuera de las nubes que tienen "rayos del sol" en la atmósfera

Fluir por ellos. 


2 en la gran ola de odios y rabias.....

EARTH'S WINTER SONG 


1 The beautiful young men and women! standing against war their courage has made a green place in my heart.

In the dark and utter destitution of winter the face of the girl is a fresh moon radiant with the Truth she loves, the Annunciation,
the promise faith keeps in life.

Seed in the blind Earth, stricken by cold, the spirits of the new Sun seek you out!

The face of the Virgin is a Star raying out And at the brest of her breth
"The Sun-element, the Child "forming itself out of the clouds which have "the Sun-rays in the atmosphere

"pouring thru them. 


2 in the great storm of feer and rage the heds of evil appeer and disappeer, heds of state, lords of the cold war,

the old dragon whose scales are corpses of men and whose breth blasts crops and burns villages demands again his hecatomb,
our lives and outrage going up into his powr over us. Wearing the unctuous mask of Johnson, from his ass-hole emerging the
hed of Humphrey, he bellows and begins over Asia and America the slawter of the innocents and the reign of rath.

But our lives are drivn downwards too, within, deep down.
All the spirits of the living stars return where the sun
underground works his light magic stirring the deepest roots. We have been drivn deep into the heart of our yearning, into the
store from which youth will rise, new shoots of the spring-tide. 0 the green spring-tide of individual volition for the communal
good, the Christ-promise of brotherhood, the lover's promise of the self's fulfillment!
"The body of inner Earth is alive in mid-Winter 

In the Underground:
the sublime Crèche; the lamp's faint glow, the enormous shadows; the few frightend shepherds; the three magi or magicians
seeing in the Child the child of their lore; Joseph whose faith is father, and the girl whose virginity engenders; and the new lord
of the true life, of Love.
we remember, was always born, as now, in a time of despair, having no place there at the Inn hunted down by Herod's law
fleeing by night, secreted in Egypt.

Love in his young innocence radiant in his depth of time and night has waited and now-this is
the message of Christmas-returns once more, bearing the light of the Sun
fair in his face.

UP RISING PASSAGES 25 


Now Johnson would go up to join the great simulacra of
men, Hitler and Stalin, to work his fame
with planes roaring out from Guam over Asia, all
America become a sea of toiling men
stirrd at his will, which would be a bloated thing,
drawing from the underbelly of the nation such blood
and dreams as swell the
idiot psyche out of its courses into an elemental
thing until his name stinks with burning meat and
heapt honors

And men wake to see that they are used like things
spent in a great potlatch, this Texas barbecue

of Asia, Africa, and all the Americas, 

And the professional military behind him, thinking to
use him as they thought to use Hitler
without losing control of their business of war,

But the mania, the ravening eagle of America as
Lawrence saw him "bird of men that are masters,
lifting the rabbit-blood of the
myriads up into. . into something terrible, gone
beyond bounds, or
As Blake saw America in figures of fire and blood
raging, ... in what image? the ominous roar in the air,
the omnipotent wings, the all-American boy in the
cockpit loosing his flow of napalm, below in the
jungles "any life at all or sign
of life his target, drawing now

not with crayons in his secret room 

the burning of homes and the torture of mothers and
fathers and children,
their hair a-flame, screaming in agony, but
in the line of duty, for the might and enduring fame
of Johnson, for the victory of American will over its
victims, releasing his store of destruction over the
enemy,
in terror and hatred of all communal things,
communion, of communism.

has raised from the private rooms of small-town bosses
and businessmen,
from the council chambers of the gangs that run the
great cities, swollen with the votes of millions,
from the fearful hearts of good people in the suburbs
turning the savory meat over the charcoal burners and
heaping their
barbecue plates with more than they can eat,
from the closed meeting-rooms of regents of
universities and sessions of profiteers

- back of the scene: the atomic stockpile; the vials
of synthesized diseases eager biologists have developt
over half a century
dreaming of the bodies of mothers and fathers and
children and hated rivals swollen with new plagues,
measles grown
enormous, influenzas perfected; and the gases of
despair, confusion of the senses, mania, inducing
terror of the universe, coma,
existential wounds, that chemists we have met at
cocktail parties, passt daily and with a happy "Good
Day on the way to
classes or work, have workt to make war too terrible
for men to wage- raised this secret entity of
America's hatred of Europe,
of Africa,
of Asia,
the deep hatred for the old world that had driven
generations of America out of itself,
and for the alien world, the new world about him, that
might have been Paradise
but was before his eyes already cleard back in a
holocaust of burning Indians, trees and grasslands,
reduced to his real estate, his projects of
exploitation and profitable wastes,

this specter that in the beginning Adams and Jefferson feard and knew
would corrupt the very body of the nation
and all our sense of our common humanity, this black
bile of old evils arisen anew, takes over the vanity of Johnson;
and the very glint of Satan's eyes from the pit of the
hell of America's unacknowledged, unrepented crimes
that I saw in
Goldwater's eyes
now shines from the eyes of the President
in the swollen head of the nation.

Bending the Bow

We've our business to attend Day's duties,
bend back the bow in dreams as we may
til the end rimes in the taut string
with the sending. Reveries are rivers and flow
where the cold light gleams reflecting the window upon the
surface of the table,
the presst-glass creamer, the pewter sugar bowl, the litter
of coffee cups and saucers,
carnations painted growing upon whose surfaces. The whole
composition of surfaces leads into the other
current disturbing
what I would take hold of. I'd been 

in the course of a letter – I am still
in the course of a letter – to a friend,
who comes close in to my thought so that
the day is hers. My hand writing here
there shakes in the currents of... of air?
of an inner anticipation of...? reaching to touch
ghostly exhilarations in the thought of her. 

At the extremity of this
design
"there is a connexion working in both directions, as in
the bow and the lyre"–
only in that swift fulfillment of the wish
that sleep
can illustrate my hand
sweeps the string. 

You stand behind the where-I-am.
The deep tones and shadows I will call a woman.
The quick high notes... You are a girl there too,
having something of sister and of wife,
inconsolate,
and I would play Orpheus for you again, 

recall the arrow or song
to the trembling daylight
from which it sprang.

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