PARADOX HILL: "FROM APPALACHIA TO LUNAR SHORE, REVISED EDITION"

OVER THE MOUNTAIN

47 OVER THE MOUNTAIN When I was a child and we lived at home In our farmhouse under the mountain’s comb, The meadows stretched from our wide front door, And the fields ran down to the river’s shore; But behind our house, to the west and north, The mountain reared, from the earth reared forth— A king of dark, with a rocky crown, The mountain stood, and its dark fell down In shadowed length on our wide front door, And across our fields to the south and shore. When I was a child and we lived and grew, My four tall brothers had work to do And hills to run when their work was through; But I, the dreamer, and of them all The only sister so lone and small, Was always different since I was born, My one leg twisted like gnarly thorn— Four tall brothers, but I the lorn Child who sat by the back-yard tree And staring, staring, could almost see Across the mountain and over far, North and westward by wind and star. “Over Bonnie”—the tales they told— When I was little, the words were gold: “Bonnie River” and “Over Yon,” “Across the Mountain” and on and on Where I had never, have never gone. 48 My four tall brothers and Gramp and Pa Ran the ridges and rooked the law, And every June time and every fall, At brook trout rising and turkey call, Crossed the mountain, I watched them fade Up morning ridges, through tear-mist shade Until they vanished; yet leaf-tread still I walked behind them down Galford hill, Across the hacking, through rocky gate; The pine wind touched me—my leg was straight. A week. I waited. One sunset burned; The six tall hunters that night returned, Dropping downward through files of gloam, With trout and turkey and wild bee comb— “Mama, Mama! It’s them, come home!” * * * * * When I was a child—as I am no more, For I left my place by our backyard door, And east and south were the fields stretched wide, South and east by the river’s side, Where long, green meadows, swinging glide— I found my city, my brace, my pride. Found this city . . . so bright and bare, But still at evening on street and stair, When stars moved over, I always yearned North and westward. When starlight burned Above the smokestacks, I turned my eyes— King and Monster, I saw it rise 49 Above my city, my safe-lit town— That hill of granite, that rocky crown. * * * * * On penthouse roof and at the subway gate, I turned, and turn, and always, soon or late, As now, this evening still . . . for visions do fulfill, Arising not at will, but of themselves, by power yet unknown . . . And I have walked, a thousand nights, that hill, Beneath my feet each loved, familiar stone, And known, by heart, the pathways where they wind, So well that I could walk them with the blind, And find, and surely find. . . . I know that country . . . every brake of laurel, the long Savannahs, scent of pennyroyal, the pine wind blowing— Waters gray and wild And always farther, farther—dream-beguiled— Across to Bonnie River—undefiled. * * * * * In some strange room when ether brings the night In waves descending downward on my sight, Then I will track my hunters—gone before— And all lean, lawless hunters of that shore— Beyond the mountain, through the rocky crown, Across the green savannahs flowing down In tides of bluegrass westward where they roll— Forever, farther, farther—“Bonnie Shoal.” ...