Twilight: After Haying
Yes, long shadows go out
from the bales; and yes, the soul
must part from the body:
what else could it do?
The men sprawl near the baler,
too tired to leave the field.
They talk and smoke,
and the tips of their cigarettes
blaze like small roses
in the night air. (It arrived
and settled among them
before they were aware.)
The moon comes
to count the bales,
and the dispossessed—
Whip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will
—sings from the dusty stubble.
These things happen ... the soul's bliss
and suffering are bound together
like the grasses ...
The last, sweet exhalations
of timothy and vetch
go out with the song of the bird;
the ravaged field
grows wet with dew.
Poem: "Twilight: After Haying" by Jane Kenyon from Otherwise: New & Selected Poems. © Graywolf Press, 1997. Found in this past week's Writer's Almanac.
Posted by nickles at May 13, 2007 07:23 AM | TrackBacki like this one because of the sensory language. you've got birdsong, moonlight, and scents of hay and smoke all around this thought about the soul.
to be honest, though, i'm also annoyed at the ellipses. i should find Jane's poem in full form and post a link, especially since i think she might actually be saying something that requires thought.
Posted by: ME at May 15, 2007 06:46 PM[snap]
[snaps]
[snap]
someone named mez needs a brain. and a life. I wasn't aware that "ME" was...you....ahha. LAME! but that poem is GREAT! As for us talking, just call anytime. I'm not sure what's best for you, or for me. And I definitely have the time change thing really confused. But yes....we'll probably talk tomorrow. Or I'll leave you a message. Or mom or dad will - tomiz is when Jeff finds out what's happening.
Posted by: mez at May 23, 2007 12:13 AM