POETRY CHRONICLE
a short final line--and other things-and I will make them
recognizable
before I kick them over. All in the open, because Flattest-no sleight-of–
hand; only here and there, just for a moment, I will be richer than
anyone. What is simplest? In the first stanza, iteration: 'Today' against
Auden's fat 'Tomorrow' (in 'Spain')
if
anyone cares, with Eliot flickering
in the middle lines; then claim the stanza-not too hard-in the short
line. In the second, pointing: just like and just against Eliot's faked
magic in 'The Waste Land' cards, if anyone cares. Then wipe them out
and, in the second short line, claim everything.
Speech
everywhere.
Loosen
everything. What do poets do? They do things
again.
I will
do things
again,
as they have never been done before." And the marvelous poem
continues on its way:
This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.
And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We cam slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flow ers:
They call it easing the Spring.
They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the
almond~blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For today we have naming of parts.
It is all done without effort, or appears to be done so. Then sud–
denly you feel like weeping. This is a poet whose slightest shift can con–
trive excitement. His poems accumulate, perfectly flat and then per–
fectly suggestive, so naturally that at the second reading one of them
is familiar as
if
one had known it for weeks or months. He mixes strange
emotions. This warm familiarity is one; he says more completely than
you expect
what
you expect. Another, which poets are more often said
to have than have, is humor. The second and third "Lessons of the
War" are more openly grievous than the first by the time they end, yet
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