Against the Evidence: Selected Poems, 1934–1994

The Violence

Whatever Contribution Whatever contribution I was to make to living has been made, yet living has gained nothing from it but a sharpened sense of its futility for me. The robin hops from branch to branch as if one branch makes a difference over the other and hopping in itself is important to the cause. Standing idly at the door to the meadow, not knowing of anyone in need of me, made unwanted to myself, Iglimpse my neighbor standing in his doorway too and staring out. Stability There is a fault in the universe that I should have the fault of self-doubt. The constant exploding outwards into space, as if to occupy it all to leave no room for doubt. If there's no end to space, then there is no end to explosiveness, and to racingoutward. With space finite, the universe will turn in on itself, crushing each particle of self in search of assurance, constancy, stability. The Violence The language among the clashing winds and falling trees is action, unexplained to me or to themselves and unmediated by feeling for or against—neither 138 | Poems of the 1980s open to discussion with others nor with themselves. That leaves me tongue-tied and in a hurry to secure my safety within my house, and the trees bend ominously toward it beneath the violence of the wind. No, it's no use longing for lyricjoy, sorrow or fear. It's no use longing for words of love or pleading. It's simply to act as do the trees or the wind: to become an agent of that force that could save my life, and so I become impersonal to myself, a mind of the wind. The Bird The bird was flying toward me from a distance and as it drew near to where I stood watching from behind the deck window it veered off into the woods as if I were a stranger among the grass and flowers. One bird giving me an insight into its reasoning could make me feel at home. 739 ...