Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE DUNES OF INDIANA, by EDGAR LEE MASTERS Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Under a sky as green as a juniper berry Last Line: Old memphis, or old bactria.... Subject(s): Indiana | ||||||||
Under a sky as green as a juniper berry The yellow sands of the dunes, in clefts and curves Run up and down, until the horizon swerves At Michigan City, twenty miles from Gary. Scrawls and grotesqueries of giants who laugh At the storm's puffed cheeks, the water's pilfering hands! Like the beat of a heart traced by a cardiograph, Their sky-line lifts and lulls, With the eternal pulse Of air and the sands. The dunes are a quilt of yellow, green and gray Spread to the Calumet River. Peaked by giant children who play Circus with feet for poles. Fantastic dunes, Protean hills, and migratory tents Of invisible gypsies, changing with the moon's Replenished and exhausted valleys of light. Forests of pine and oak arise On many a height, And down the steep descents Flourish and vanish from sight, Under the restless feet of the wandering hills. They trace in sand the changes of the skies When the sun of evening smelts Great towers of cloud or battlements, And levels them, or warps Their shapes to broken walls, Or twisted scraps, Or floors of emerald strewn with lion pelts.... Here there are water-falls; Lakes bright as mercury, and pools Green as the mosses, where hepaticas And asters scurry before the gesturing wind; Cool hollows, scented brakes Of bramble, fern and cane; Great marshes where the flags leap like green snakes, Bordered with garish gules Of pye-weed; over whose wastes the crane Flaps the slow rhythm of extended wings. And on whose reeds the blackbird sings A quaver of blue water, March's fire. Between the feet of the dunes and the trampling troops Of waves along the shore the sand is pounded Into a broad mosaic firm and smooth, Whereon are strewn old reels, between the groups Of blackened hut and booth. Boats lie here where they grounded, Like skeletons in the desert ribbed and black, Scaled with the water's scurf. The shore is the moat between the ruined rampart Of the dunes, whose shifting is stayed By splotches of thickets, trees and turf, And the invading surf. Here phantom mists descend, and the wrack Of autumn clouds fade into the air when storms Harry the water, and the sand is flayed By the whip of the wind. There is forever here the futile fashioning Of hills, and their leveling; The growth of forests and their burial; Pools filled and rivers changed or dried Between the spoiling winds, and the mystical Hands of the tide! Branches as gnarled as an ancient olive tree Stream cherry blossoms like blown snow Toward the blue of the lake, a hundred feet below. They have been sand, now being blossoms drift With the winds whose spirit cannot be Quieted or given shrift. By night they howl or whine As if they asked for words, or a sign To tell of the sand and seeds and spores Which build and root, bear blossoms, seed, And change the uplands and the shores; Destroy, make over, mend Without use, without end In an endless cycle of sand and seed, Of wind and the washing of waves; They would tell why forests grow and find their graves; And hills glide to their sepulchres, Even as cities sink and pass away: Old Memphis, or old Bactria.... | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN EXPATIATION ON THE COMBINING OF WEATHERS AT THIRTY .... by HAYDEN CARRUTH OLD MEN ON THE COURTHOUSE LAWN, MURRAY, KENTUCKY by JAMES GALVIN THE SHOOTING OF JOHN DILLINGER OUTSIDE THE BIOGRAPH THEATER by DAVID WAGONER MORNING IN THE HILLS by MARY LARKIN-COOK OCTOBER IN INDIANA by JOHN ROBERT MOORE THE EVERLASTING HILLS by BESSIE WILLIAMS OSMAN THE HUNDRED DAYS' MEN; ILLINOIS, MAY, 1864 by EDNA DEAN PROCTOR THOMAS AND NANCY LINCOLN by EDNA DEAN PROCTOR SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALEXANDER THROCKMORTON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |
|