Culture hears not her doorbell, Matthew
but pay us a visit sometime in the U S of A
land of the lightning okay
the bonecrusher handshake and the definite maybe.
By the waters of Ford and Fulbright
the chief barbaric eagles are silent under the lawn.
There's nobody here but us critics.
Gordon Sylander
MISSISSIPPI
When we went down the river on a raft
So smooth it was and easy it would seem
Land moved but never we. Storms faded aft
In Gothic castles. Trees ran in the dream
That water had, stars danced, with this log craft
America suspended on a gleam.
The days were mostly pipes and fishing lines,
Though for a turn or two we had a king,
A Nonesuch with his royal monkeyshines,
But treacherous, for all his capering.
The naked wickedness of his designs
Brought on Democracy, a steady thing.
Steady but alarming. Rip-tooth snags
Are wrapped in smoothness like the tiger's hide,
And when she blows, chickens and carpet bags
Go roiling seaward in the yellow tide.
And men are tilted still like battle flags
In Brady photographs, just as they died.
The river is too strong for bank or bar,
The landmarks change, and nothing would remain
But for the man who travels by a star,
