Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SAND, by JESSICA NELSON NORTH 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. | 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: A ROCOCO STUDY (FIRST VERSION) by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE WANDERER by WYSTAN HUGH AUDEN LONG GONE by STERLING ALLEN BROWN BLACK SHEEP by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON A YOUNG BOY; THE DECISION by JESSICA NELSON NORTH |
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