16 de Julio, 2007

Snow haze gleams like sand.
Mère and Père Chose are walking away from the
They tear apart the mist, it is as though,
Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
XIX. Jones Sound and Beaufort Sea
Away from their profundity of surface.
Dreaming time has reversed, I watch drowned snow
Or else, like us, sunk into some long gaze
The face of a Quos ego),
III. Earliest Recorded Northern Explorers: The Greeks and the Vikings
Blurring the terrain,
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,
VI. Smeerenburg and the Whale-Oil Rush
I. Arctic Scenery
From which, thanks to symmetry,
In a single floral stroke,
I've drifted somewhat from the distant heart
By trees—or might see as the masonry

 

XX. To the Pole
Through the back of the picture at the patch of white
Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
Life, or only joy, that stands out
Are muffled into silence that refuses
their bellies, they're out cold, instantaneously
And beyond, the same sound of bees
Is the moon to grow
That only you and I can know. Les deux
Where lamps are lit: these, too,
Among us, only Alberti, then Sangallo,
A frame of glided twilight—I
More beautiful than anything in this world.
Sphinx of questioning substance, or a sort
To reach out into its own vanishing
Of meaning like these—the world created by
And half-starved foxes shake and paw
into early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzard
Given by nature will soak into it.

Toward . . . that seems to be the whispered question
Standing in the way of the truth. A white
He is harsh, dismal, ice—that is, exiled;
Set on that tomb in the eternal night;
on their own little seat cushions, wearing soft caps
II. List of Franklin Search Parties
Silent patch of ultimate paint. You are
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
Along the walls are only empty niches,
And all at once it is the meadow I walked in at ten,
XVII. Greenland
As if your human shape were what the storm
In the dread circle hemmed by glaciers,
Side of the painting, the world of that wise, white,
Archangel Winter, darkness on his back
snoozing. A schoolgirl on vacation gapes,
VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay
Two of us, Docteur and Madame Machin, who stand
IV. The Paths to Cathay