American Poetry, 1922 Part 11

What presses about us here in the evening As you open a window and stare at a stone-gray sky, And the streets give back the jangle of meaningless movement That is tired of life and almost too tired to die.

Night comes on, and even the night is wounded; There, on its breast, it carries a curved, white scar.

What will you find out there that is not torn and anguished?

Can G.o.d be less distressed than the least of His creatures are?

Below are the blatant lights in a huddled squalor; Above are futile fires in freezing s.p.a.ce.

What can they give that you should look to them for compa.s.sion Though you bare your heart and lift an imploring face?

They have seen, by countless waters and windows, The women of your race facing a stony sky; They have heard, for thousands of years, the voices of women Asking them: "Why ...?"

Let the night be; it has neither knowledge nor pity.

One thing alone can hope to answer your fear; It is that which struggles and blinds us and burns between us....

Let the night be. Close the window, beloved.... Come here.

THE FLAMING CIRCLE

Though for fifteen years you have chaffed me across the table, Slept in my arms and fingered my plunging heart, I scarcely know you; we have not known each other.

For all the fierce and casual contacts, something keeps us apart.

Are you struggling, perhaps, in a world that I see only dimly, Except as it sweeps toward the star on which I stand alone?

Are we swung like two planets, compelled in our separate orbits, Yet held in a flaming circle far greater than our own?

Last night we were single, a radiant core of completion, Surrounded by flames that embraced us but left no burns, To-day we are only ourselves; we have plans and pretensions; We move in dividing streets with our small and different concerns.

Merging and rending, we wait for the miracle. Meanwhile The fire runs deeper, consuming these selves in its growth.

Can this be the mystical marriage--this clash and communion; This pain of possession that frees and encircles us both?

PORTRAIT OF A MACHINE

What nudity is beautiful as this Obedient monster purring at its toil; These naked iron muscles dripping oil And the sure-fingered rods that never miss.

This long and shining flank of metal is Magic that greasy labor cannot spoil; While this vast engine that could rend the soil Conceals its fury with a gentle hiss.

It does not vent its loathing, does not turn Upon its makers with destroying hate.

It bears a deeper malice; lives to earn Its master's bread and laughs to see this great Lord of the earth, who rules but cannot learn, Become the slave of what his slaves create.

ROAST LEVIATHAN

"_Old Jews!_" Well, David, aren't we?

What news is that to make you see so red, To swear and almost tear your beard in half?

Jeered at? Well, let them laugh.

You can laugh longer when you're dead.

What? Are you still too blind to see?

Have you forgot your Midrash!... They were right, The little _goyim_, with their angry stones.

You should be buried in the desert out of sight And not a dog should howl miscarried moans Over your foul bones....

Have you forgotten what is promised us, Because of stinking days and rotting nights?

Eternal feasting, drinking, blazing lights With endless leisure, periods of play!

Supernal pleasures, myriads of gay Discussions, great debates with prophet-kings!

And rings of riddling scholars all surrounding G.o.d who sits in the very middle, expounding The Torah.... _Now_ your dull eyes glisten!

Listen:

It is the final Day.

A blast of Gabriel's horn has torn away The last haze from our eyes, and we can see Past the three hundred skies and gaze upon The Ineffable Name engraved deep in the sun.

Now one by one, the pious and the just Are seated by us, radiantly risen From their dull prison in the dust.

And then the festival begins!

A sudden music spins great webs of sound Spanning the ground, the stars and their companions; While from the cliffs and canons of blue air, Prayers of all colors, cries of exultation Rise into choruses of singing gold.

And at the height of this bright consecration, The whole Creation's rolled before us.

The seven burning heavens unfold....

We see the first (the only one we know) Dispersed and, shining through, The other six declining: Those that hold The stars and moons, together with all those Containing rain and fire and sullen weather; Cellars of dew-fall higher than the brim; Huge a.r.s.enals with centuries of snows; Infinite rows of storms and swarms of seraphim....

Divided now are winds and waters. Sea and land, Tohu and Bohu, light and darkness, stand Upright on either hand.

And down this terrible aisle, While heaven's ranges roar aghast, Pours a vast file of strange and hidden things: Forbidden monsters, crocodiles with wings And perfumed flesh that sings and glows With more fresh colors than the rainbow knows....

The _reem_, those great beasts with eighteen horns, Who mate but once in seventy years and die In their own tears which flow ten stadia high.

The _shamir_, made by G.o.d on the sixth morn, No longer than a grain of barley corn But stronger than the bull of Bashan and so hard It cuts through diamonds. Meshed and starred With precious stones, there struts the shattering _ziz_ Whose groans are wrinkled thunder....

For thrice three hundred years the full parade Files past, a cavalcade of fear and wonder.

And then the vast aisle clears.

Now comes our constantly increased reward.

The Lord commands that monstrous beast, Leviathan, to be our feast.

What cheers ascend from horde on ravenous horde!

One hears the towering creature rend the seas, Frustrated, cowering, and his pleas ignored.

In vain his great, belated tears are poured-- For this he was created, kept and nursed.

Cries burst from all the millions that attend: _"Ascend, Leviathan, it is the end!

We hunger and we thirst! Ascend!" ..._

Observe him first, my friend.

_G.o.d's deathless plaything rolls an eye Five hundred thousand cubits high.

The smallest scale upon his tail Could hide six dolphins and a whale.

His nostrils breathe--and on the spot The churning waves turn seething hot.

If he be hungry, one huge fin Drives seven thousand fishes in; And when he drinks what he may need, The rivers of the earth recede.

Yet he is more than huge and strong-- Twelve brilliant colors play along His sides until, compared to him, The naked, burning sun seems dim.