Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SAND, by JESSICA NELSON NORTH


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SAND, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Kazar, the nomad
Last Line: In a whirlwind riding.
Alternate Author Name(s): Macdonald, Reed I., Mrs.
Subject(s): Deserts; Food & Eating; Wandering & Wanderers


Kazar, the nomad,
Narrowed his eyes against the swimming heat
And with his net of fancy round him sought
After the slim, elusive fish of thought.

Beneath his feet, --
Between his dust-brown toes the desert stired,
Nomad after its kind.
Spherical, blind,
The hot grains quickened and rolled.
And if they spoke at all it is not told.
But Kazar, reaching forth his hand,
Unsealed his lips and spoke unto the sand.

"Sand, sand,
You who rest not
Are my brother.
Cloud and wind
Going before
Point our pathway.
The black rock
Has but one dwelling,
I have seen it, I who spoke with mountains.
It stands and stirs not
As a tree when no winds come.

I said to the mountain,
"Goats seek your pastures,
Olives ripen, rain lies in your valleys,
Yet must I leave you.
You look from Skyward
On many places,
But roots hold you."

I said to the mountain,
"That most distant kingdom
The blue country
Beyond your shadow
At the sun's setting
I go seeking."

The sand quickened under his dust-brown heels.
The grains rolled with the sound of soundless wheels.
After a stillness Kazar spoke again, his words
Hummed in the air like little drowsy birds,
Hung in the air like the voice of coming rain.

"The grass was deep in the year of fat cattle,
In the far land at the fork of two rivers.
In the footprints of sleek-skinned oxen
Lay cool water.
Wild horses came out of the mountains
Proud-stepping.

Who shall sing the praise of the wild stallion?
There is none like him.
Water that rushes quickly out of the hillside
Is less lovely.

Snared with the twisted hemp he leapt upright --
He of my choosing. With white eyeballs
He circled round me.
Terrible as the sun was the wild stallion
Lovely as moonlight.
I sat astride of his back, -- I, Kazar,
Like a god I sat, and swifter than flame he bore me
Out of the land at the fork of two rivers
Through deep valleys.

Who shall sing the praise of the wild stallion?
There is none like him. Where again shall I find him?"

Thus Kazar spoke, but the sand, too long abiding,
Leapt to the mane of the air and vanished
In a whirlwind riding.





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