12 de Julio, 2007

XV. The International Circumpolar Stations: The Greely Expedition
Close at the end of distance the two Chose
Set on that tomb in the eternal night;
Wheezing ravens, when
A matter of getting all that right . . .
By the design of our own silent eyes
Seen. What you know is only manifest
Unreadable from behind—they are well down
Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
III. Chronology of Northern Exploration
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay
and chaste, lovely as lakes to the retired men
So you can watch me watch uplifted snow
From point to point of meaning—open? closed?—
Traces of those deep cuts lie thickly upon
Brush the lone giant in that somber pall.
He never even dreams, being sheer snow;
The winter road from the St. Simeon farm

Like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
The bees are buzzing,
As distant memories, through the fog-dimmed light,
The snowflakes are swirling, blotting out
Choces, Mère and Père, undreaming even of fields
VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay
Is the moon to grow
"Be off!" say Winter's snows;
The snowflakes are swirling, blotting out
Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,
Wind, sleet. The branches sway,
V. The Dutch in the Arctic
Covering the land—
Astonished that you have returned to go
Blurring the terrain,
A pallid yellow lingers
into early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzard
XIV. Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the Tegetthoff
marked with a dark stroke from the left, encroached

Blurring the terrain,
Not so much of place as of renewed hope,
Wheel tracks entrench themselves in snow, yet painted
That this mud draws on the stone.
Seized from creation by nonentity,
XVI. Laying a Ghost: The Jeannette and the Fram
That neither the motionless farm couple trudging
Standing in the way of the truth. A white
to matter, for the flushed boys are muscular
To follow in the path of their brief blossoming
Nor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of.
Dim, and die tonight?
Event, the end of the painted road ends up
More beautiful than anything in this world.
the foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoon
They move against, or through, or by, or toward.
People might see to be the opening
IV. The Paths to Cathay
Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,