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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE WANDERER: A ROCOCO STUDY (FIRST VERSION), by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS Poem Explanation Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Even in the time when still I Last Line: And of the new wandering. Subject(s): Wandering & Wanderers | |||
ADVENT Even in the time when still I Had no certain vision of her She sprang from the nest as a young crow At first flight circling the forest, And I know now how then she showed me Her mind, flying near the tree tops, Reaching out and over toward the horizon. I saw her eyes straining in the new distance And as the woods fell from her flying, Likewise they fell from me as I followed -- So that I knew (that time) what I must put from me To hold myself ready for the high courses. But one day crossing the ferry With the great towers of Manhattan before me, Out at the prow with the sea-wind blowing I had been wearying many questions Which she had put on to try me: How shall I be a mirror to this modernity? When in a rush, dragging A blunt boat on the yielding river -- Suddenly I saw her! and she waved me From the white wet in midst of her playing! She cried me, "Haia! here I am son! See how strong my little finger! Can I not swim well? I can fly too!" and with that a great sea-gull Went to the left, vanishing with a wild cry. But in my mind all the persons of godhead Followed after. CLARITY Come! cried my mind and by her might That was upon us we flew above the river Seeking her, grey gulls among the white -- In air speaking as she had willed it -- "I am given, cried I, now I know it! I know now all my time is forespent! For me one face is all the world! For this day I have at last seen her, In whom age in age is united -- Indifferent, out of sequence, marvelously! Saving alone that one sequence Which is the beauty of all the world, for surely Either there, in the rolling smoke spheres below us, Or here with us in the air intercircling, Certainly somewhere here about us I know she is revealing these things!" And as gulls we flew and with soft cries We beset speech flying, "It is she, The mighty, recreating the whole world And this the first day of wonders! Attiring herself before me -- Taking shape before me for worship As a red leaf fallen upon a stone! She of whom I told you, that old queen, Forgiveless, unreconcilable! That high wanderer of byways Walking imperious in beggary -- On her throat a single chain of the many Rings from which most stones are fallen, Wrists wearing a diminished state, whose ankles Are bare! Toward the river! Is it she there? And we swerved clamorously downward -- In her I will take my peace henceforth!" BROADWAY Then it was, as with the edge of a great wing She struck! -- from behind, in mid air And instantly down the mists of my eyes There came crowds walking -- men as visions With expressionless, animate faces; Empty men with shell-thin bodies Jostling close above the gutter, Hasting nowhere! And then, for the first time, I really scented the sweat of her presence And turning saw her and -- fell back sickened! Ominous, old, painted -- With bright lips and eyes of the street sort -- Her might strapped in by a corset To give her age youth, perfect In that will to be young she had covered Her godhead to go beside me. Silent, her voice entered at my eyes And my astonished thought followed her easily: Well, do their eyes shine, their clothes fit? These live I tell you. Old men with red cheeks, Young men in gay suits! See them! Dogged, quivering, impassive -- "Well -- are these the ones you envied?" At which I answered her, Marvelous old queen, If I could only catch something of this day's Air and sun into your service, Those toilers after peace and after pleasure That toil and pleasure drive, broken at all hours -- Would turn again worshippers at all hours! -- But she sniffed upon the words warily -- Yet I persisted, watching for an answer, -- To you, old harlot of greatest lusting -- Indiscriminate reveller in all ages -- Knower of all fires out of the bodies Of all men that walked the night with lust at heart! To you. O mighty, crafty prowler After the youth of all cities, reeling drunk With the sight of your archness! All the youth That comes to you, you having the knowledge Rather than to those uninitiate -- To you, marvelous old queen, give me, Them and me, always a new marriage Each hour of the day's high posting, New grip upon that garment that brushed me One time on beach, lawn, in forest! May I be lifted still up and out of terror, Up from the death living around me! Torn up continually and carried Whatever way the head of your whim is! A bur upon those streaming tatters -- But with the fall of night she led me quietly away. PATERSON -- THE STRIKE At the first peep of dawn she roused me Trembling at those changes the night saw, For brooding wretchedly in a corner Of the room to which she had taken me -- Her old eyes glittering fiercely -- Go! she said and I hurried shivering Out into the deserted streets of Paterson. That night she came again, hovering In rags within the filmy ceiling -- Great Queen, bless me with your tatters! You are blest! Go on! Hot for savagery, I went sucking the air! Into the city, Out again, baffled, on to the mountain! Back into the city! Nowhere The subtle! Everywhere the electric! A short bread-line before a hitherto empty tea shop: No questions -- all stood patiently, Dominated by one idea: something That carried them as they are always wanting to be carried, But what is it, I asked those nearest me, This thing heretofore unobtainable That they seem so clever to have put on now? Why since I have failed them can it be anything But their own brood? Can it be anything but brutality? On that at least they're united! That at least Is their bean soup, their calm bread and a few luxuries! But in me more sensitive, marvelous old queen, It sank deep into the blood, that I rose upon The tense air enjoying the dusty fight! Heavy wrought drink were the low foreheads, The flat heads with the unkempt black or blond hair! Below the skirt the ugly legs of the young girls Pistons too powerful for delicacy! The women's wrists, the men's arms, red, Used to heat and cold, to toss quartered beeves And barrels and milk cans and crates of fruit! Faces all knotted up like burls on oaks, Grasping, fox snouted, thick lipped, Sagging breasts and protruding stomachs, Rasping voices, filthy habits with the hands. Nowhere you! Everywhere the electric! Ugly, venomous, gigantic! Tossing me as a great father his helpless Infant till it shriek with ecstasy And its eyes roll and its tongue hangs out --! I am at peace again, old queen, I listen clearer now. ABROAD Never, even in a dream Have I winged so high nor so well As with her, leading by the hand, That first day on the Jersey mountains. And never shall I forget The trembling interest with which I heard Her low voice in a thunder: You are safe here, look child, look open-mouth! The patch of road between precipitous bramble banks, The tree in the wind, the white house, the sky! Speak to them of these concerning me! For never while you permit them to ignore me In these shall the full of my freed voice Come grappling the ear with intent! At which I cried out with all the might I had, Waken! O people, to the boughs green With unripe fruit within you! Waken to the myriad cinquefoil In the waving grass of your minds! Waken to the silent Phoebe nest Under the eaves of your spirit! But she stooping nearer the shifting hills Spoke again, Look there! See them! There in the oat-field with the horses! The weight of the sky is upon them, The great fire-flies in the evening of heaven Beneath which all roof beams crumble! There is none but the single roof beam, There is no love bears against the great fire-flies! At this I shouted again still more loudly But my voice was a seed in the wind, And she, the old one, laughing Seized me and whirling about, bore back To the city, upward, still laughing Until the great towers stood above the meadow Wheeling beneath, the little creeks, the mallows That I picked as a boy, the Hackensack So quiet, that looked so broad formerly: The crawling trains, the cedar swamp upon the one side -- All so old, so familiar -- so new now To my marvelling eyes as we passed Invisible. SOOTHSAY Eight days went by, eight days Comforted by no nights, until finally: Would you behold yourself old, beloved? And I was pierced! yet I consented gladly For I knew it could not be otherwise. And she -- Behold yourself old! Sustained in strength, wielding might in gript surges. Not bodying the sun in weak leaps But holding way over rockish men With fern free fingers on their little crags, Their hollows, the new Atlas, to bear them For pride and for mockery! Behold Yourself old! Winding with slow might A vine among oaks to the thin tops, Leaving the leafless leaved, Bearing purple clusters! Behold Yourself old! Birds are behind you In forest silent to the hills. You are the wind coming that stills birds, Shakes the leaves in booming polyphony -- Slow winning high way amid the knocking Of boughs, evenly crescendo, The din and bellow of the male wind! Leap then from forest into foam! Lash about from low into high flames Tipping sound, the female chorus -- Linking all lions, all twitterings To make them nothing! Behold yourself old. And as I made to answer she continued, A little wistfully, yet in a voice clear cut -- Good is my over lip and evil My under lip to you henceforth, For I have taken your soul between my two hands And this shall be as it is spoken. SAINT JAMES' GROVE And so it came to that last day When, she leading by the hand, we went out Early in the morning, I heavy of heart For I knew the novitiate was ended, The ecstasy was over, the life begun. In my woollen shirt and the pale blue necktie My grandmother gave me, there I went With the old queen right past the houses Of my friends down the hill to the river As on any usual day, any errand. Alone, walking under trees, I went with her, she with me, in her wild hair By Santiago Grove and presently She bent forward and knelt by the river, The Passaic, that filthy river. And there, dabbling her mad hands, She called me close beside her. Raising the black water, then in the cupped palm She bathed our brows wailing and laughing: River we are old, you and I, We are old and in our state, beggars. Lo the filth in our hair! our bodies stink! Old friend, here I have brought you The young soul you have long asked of me. My arms in your depths, river, Let us hold this child between us, Let us make him yours and mine! Such were her words spoken. Stand forth river and give me The old friend of my revels! Give me the well-worn spirit For here I have made a room for it And I will return to you forthwith The youth you have long wanted. Stand forth river and give me The old friend of my revels! And the filthy Passaic consented! Then she leaping up with a great cry -- Enter youth into this bulk! Enter river into this young man! Then the river began to enter my heart Eddying back cool and limpid Clear to the beginning of days! But with the rebound it leaped again forward -- Muddy then black and shrunken Till I felt the utter depth of its filthiness, The vile breath of its degradation, And sank down knowing this was me now. But she lifted me and the water took a new tide Again into the older experiences. And so, backward and forward, It tortured itself within me Until time had been washed finally under, And the river had found its level -- And its last motion had ceased And I knew all -- it became me. And I knew this for double certain For there I saw myself, whitely, Being borne off under the water! I could have shouted out in my agony At the sight of myself departing Forever, but I bit back my despair For she had averted her eyes By which I knew well enough of her thoughts And so the last of me was taken. Then she -- Be mostly silent! And turning to the river, spoke again: For him and for me, river, the wandering, But by you I leave, for happiness, Deepest foliage, the thickest beeches Though elsewhere they are all dying: Tallest oaks and yellow birches That dip leaves in you mourning As now I dip my hair, immemorial Of me, immemorial of him, Immemorial of these our promises! Here shall be a birds' paradise -- They sing to you rememb'ring my voice; Here the most secluded spaces For wide around, hallowed by a stench To be our joint solitude and temple, A memory of this clear marriage And the child I have brought you in the late years! Live river, live in luxuriance Rememb'ring this our son, In remembrance of me and my sorrow And of the new wandering. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FOLK SINGER OF THE THIRTIES by JAMES DICKEY WANDERER IN A FOREIGN COUNTRY by CLARENCE MAJOR THE WANDERER by WYSTAN HUGH AUDEN LONG GONE by STERLING ALLEN BROWN BLACK SHEEP by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON A VAGABOND SONG by BLISS CARMAN A CELEBRATION by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS |
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