Lucky me
Every morning, The American Academy of Poets sends me the Poem of the Day. I always open the email, though often I never get past the first line. If it’s too pretentious or precious, I hit “delete,” pronto.
But some days, I read a poem I can’t bear to lose and drag it into a file.
Recently I trolled through the ones I saved in search of a phrase vaguely remembered and found it. A little miracle.
Recently I trolled through the ones I saved in search of a phrase vaguely remembered and found it. A little miracle.
The Wind Sleepers by H. D. arrived today. And because I was near the sea and had my phone in my back pocket, I reread it on the rocky beach pictured here.
Lucky, lucky me.
THE WIND SLEEPERS
by H.D.
Whiter
than the crust
left by the tide,
we are stung by the hurled sand
and the broken shells.
We no longer sleep
in the wind—
we awoke and fled
through the city gate.
Tear—
tear us an altar,
tug at the cliff-boulders,
pile them with the rough stones—
we no longer
sleep in the wind,
propitiate us.
Chant in a wail
that never halts,
pace a circle and pay tribute
with a song.
When the roar of a dropped wave
breaks into it,
pour meted words
of sea-hawks and gulls
and sea-birds that cry
discords.
I felt the same. Delete delete delete, but this one I read! Although I must say I don’t really get it..