I clambered to bed up the globe's impossible sides I laugh aloudĪt home, in my flannel gown, like a bear to its floe, The needles of the wreath are chalked with ash,Ĭurls from the monstrous chimney. I paint the star I sawed from yellow pine. Here men were drunk like water, burnt like wood. The boughs sigh, mile on green, calm, breathing mile, Is plaited for their grave - a kind of grief. The world's selves cure that short disease, myself,Īnd we see bending to us, dewy-eyed, the greatĬHANGE, dear to all things not to themselves endeared.īy the charred warehouse. "I am myself still?" For a little while, forget: Impossibilities, still unbelieved in, for our own… Of the sun, west of the moon, it is because we liveīy trading another's sorrow for our own another's Of the north wind to - to - somewhere east Way better than our own, an trudge on at the back What some escape to, some escape: if we find Swann's
Of the universe are seeking… who knows except themselves? In slow preambulation up and down the shelves Us men, alas! wolves, mice, bears bore.Īnd yet wolves, mice, bears, children, gods and men Read meanwhile… hunt among the shelves, as dogs do, grasses,Īnd find one cure for Everychild's diseasesĪ wolf that fed, a mouse that warned, a bear that rodeĪ boy. Some power's gratitude, the tide of things. That, like parents, no one has yet escapedĮxcept by luck or magic and since strengthĪnd wit are useless, be kind or stupid, wait Their tales are full of sorcerers and ogresīecause their lives are: the capricious infinite But dip a finger into Fafnir, taste it,Īnd all their words are plain as chance and pain. The grey-eyed one, fishing the morning mist,Īnd whispers, in the tongue of gods and children,Īre to men the cries of crickets, dense with warmth Moving in blind grace… yet from the mural, Care
The child's head, bent to the book-colored shelves, With beasts and gods, above, the wall is bright. And with good reason for both." Lowell said of Jarrell, "Now that he is gone, I see clearly that the spark of heaven really struck and irradiated the lines and being of my dear old friend-his noble, difficult and beautiful soul." Read more → To Randall's students there was always the feeling that he was their friend. Randall Jarrell published many novels throughout his lifetime and one of his most well known works was in 1960, "The Woman at the Washington Zoo".Īt the time of Randall Jarrells passing, Peter Taylor (A well known fiction writer and friend ) said, "To Randall's friends there was always the feeling that he was their teacher. He also taught for a year at Princeton and also at the University of Illinois he did a two-year appointment as Poetry Consultant at the Library of Congress. Randall attended the Vanderbilt University and later taught at the University of Texas. Poet, critic and teacher, Randall Jarrell was born in Nashville, Tennessee, to Anna (Campbell) and Owen Jarrell on May 6, 1914.
0 kommentar(er)
