by Agha Shahid Ali
By dark the world is once again intact,
Or so the mirrors, wiped clean, try to reason. . .
–James Merrill
This dream of water–what does it harbor?
I see Argentina and Paraguay
under a curfew of glass, their colors
breaking, like oil. The night in Uruguay
is black salt. I’m driving toward Utah,
keeping the entire hemisphere in view–
Colombia vermilion, Brazil blue tar,
some countries wiped clean of color: Peru
is titanium white. And always oceans
that hide in mirrors: when beveled edges
arrest tides or this world’s destinations
forsake ships. There’s Sedona, Nogales
far behind. Once I went through a mirror–
from there too the world, so intact, resembled
only itself. When I returned I tore
the skin off the glass. The sea was unsealed
by dark, and I saw ships sink off the coast
of a wounded republic. Now from a blur
of tanks in Santiago, a white horse
gallops, riderless, chased by drunk soldiers
in a jeep; they’re firing into the moon.
And as I keep driving in the desert,
someone is running to catch the last bus, men
hanging on to its sides. And he’s missed it.
He is running again; crescents of steel
fall from the sky. And here the rocks
are under fog, the cedars a temple,
Sedona carved by the wind into gods–
each shadow their worshiper. The siren
empties Santiago; he watches
–from a hush of windows–blindfolded men
blurred in gleaming vans. The horse vanishes
into a dream. I’m passing skeletal
figures carved in 700 B.C.
Whoever deciphers these canyon walls
remains forsaken, alone with history,
no harbor for his dream. And what else will
this mirror now reason, filled with water?
I see Peru without rain, Brazil
without forests–and here in Utah a dagger
of sunlight: it’s splitting–it’s the summer
solstice–the quartz center of a spiral.
Did the Anasazi know the darker
answer also–given now in crystal
by the mirrored continent? The solstice,
but of winter? A beam stabs the window,
diamonds him, a funeral in his eyes.
In the lit stadium of Santiago,
this is the shortest day. He’s taken there.
Those about to die are looking at him,
his eyes the ledger of the disappeared.
What will the mirror try now? I’m driving,
still north, always followed by that country,
its floors ice, its citizens so lovesick
that the ground–sheer glass–of every city
is torn up. They demand the republic
give back, jeweled, their every reflection.
They dig till dawn but find only corpses.
He has returned to this dream for his bones.
The waters darken. The continent vanishes.
A Nostalgist’s Map of America
Copyright ©:
1991, W. W. Norton and Company
A few random poems:
- On A Miser (From The Greek) by William Cowper
- Heat Wave by Norma Martiri
- Barter by Sara Teasdale
- Валерий Брюсов – Из Александрийской антологии. К Сапфо
- The house where I was born (01) by Yves Bonnefoy
- Apologize by Miraj Patel
- Pigeon Haiku by Violet Uram
- Юлия Жадовская – Чем ярче шумный пир
- A Catalpa Tree On West Twelfth Street poem – Amy Clampitt poems | Poems and Poetry
- First Look at Mom by Nikhil Jain
- Николай Заболоцкий – Вечерний бар
- Sonnet 84: Who is it that says most, which can say more by William Shakespeare
- In A Vacant House by Philip Levine
- The Source by Rabindranath Tagore
- Paradise Lost: Book 02 poem – John Milton poems
External links
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Talking Writing Monster’s Page –
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
- To Sleep poem – John Keats poems
- To One Who Has Been Long In City Pent poem – John Keats poems
- To My Brothers poem – John Keats poems
- To My Brother George poem – John Keats poems
- To Mrs Reynolds’ Cat poem – John Keats poems
- To John Hamilton Reynolds poem – John Keats poems
- To Hope poem – John Keats poems
- To Homer poem – John Keats poems
- To Haydon poem – John Keats poems
- To G.A.W. poem – John Keats poems
- To Fanny poem – John Keats poems
- To Byron poem – John Keats poems
- To Autumn poem – John Keats poems
- To Ailsa Rock poem – John Keats poems
- To A Young Lady Who Sent Me A Laurel Crown poem – John Keats poems
- To A Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses poem – John Keats poems
- To poem – John Keats poems
- This Living Hand poem – John Keats poems
- Think Of It Not, Sweet One poem – John Keats poems
- The Human Seasons poem – John Keats poems
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
Search engines:
Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)
Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.
Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees
Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.
Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works