University of North Carolina Greensboro - Pine Needles Yearbook (Greensboro, NC)

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T4 ■ J w, t • ' • . I BEWILDERMENT

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yv yj ' in in a cJLlm ur v Ri printed bj i lission ol Harcourl Com| tny, In. I M VJ N l EAG1 I Rl i in S opyrighl 19 And object among dreams, you sil hen with youi shoes if Anil curl vi hi i It us up iindi i mi, i ( lost i i .1 moment, youi face moves toward sleep . Shrinks from its object with .1 thoughtful sigh. This is .1 waist tin spini breaks its arm on. The gods themselves, against you, struggle in vain. This broad low strong-boned brow; thes heavj eyes; These calves, grown muscular with certainties; Tins nose, three medium-si cd pink strawberries — But I exasperate. In a little you will leave: III hear, halt squeal, halt shriek, vour laugh ol greeting Then, iecteuendo, h.us ,.t thai strange speech In which each sounil sets out to seek each other. Murders its own father, marries its own mother. And ends as one grand transcendental vowel, (Yet for all I know, the Egyptian Helen spokt s,, 1 As I look, the world contracts around you: I see Brunnhilde had hrow n braids and .classes She used for studying; Salome straight hrow n bancs. A calf ' s brown eyes, and sturdy light-brown limbs Dusted with cinnamon, an apple-dumpling s Many a beast has gnawn a leg off and got free, Many a dolphin curved up from Necessity — The trap has closed about you, and you sleep. It someone questioned you, 11 ' . Jnt t thou here} You ' d knit your brows like an orangoutang (But not so sadly; not so thoughtfully) And answer with a pure heart, guilelessly: I ' m studying . . . ff only you were not! Assignments, recipes, the Official Rulebo, i Ol B.itketb.tll — ah. let them go. you needn ' t mind. The soul has no assignments, neither cooks Nor referees: It wastes its time. Here in this enclave there are centuries For you to waste: the short and narrow stream Of Life meanders into .1 thousand valleys Of all that was, or might have been, or is to be. The books, just leafed through, whisper endlessly . . . Yet it is hard. One sees in your blurred eves The uneasy half-soul ' ' Kipling saw in dogs One sees it, in the glass, m one ' s own cms In rooms alone, in galleries, in libraries. In tears, in searchings of the heart, in staggering im We memorize once more our old creation. Humanity: with what awns tin unwilling Flesh puts on its spirit. O my sisu 1 ' So many dreams ' And not one trouhlis Your sleep of life? no sell st.nes shadow ily From these worn hexahedrons, beckoning With false smiles, tears . ' . . . Meanwhile Tatyana Larina (gray eyes nickel with the moonlight That falls through the willows onto Lensky s tomb; Now young and shy, now old and cold and sure) Asks, smiling But what is shi dreaming ol fat thing? 1 I ' H.ing. She purrs or laps or runs, .ill in hi r skip; Believes, .. She mil 1 I Around mans head that inconceivable cmhantment 1 hi 1. 1 -line back t hit To find our graves dug, families dead, selves dying Of all tins, 1 anya, she is inn ! realirj They look alike already They say, man wouldn ' t hi llli best thing in this world and isn t In ' If he were not too good for it. But she M11 s good enough tor it And yet sometimes lit 1 simdi form, in its pink strapless formal. Is .is it bathed in moonlight modulated Into a form ol joy, .1 l.vdian mode; I Ins Wooden Mean ' s a kind, furred animal That sp,.iks, in tin w ild .,t things, delighting riddles To the soul that listens, trusting . . . P.... 1 senseless l.itt When, in the last light sleep of dawn, the messenger ( omes with h message, you will not awake. Hi II giv« his feathery whistle, shake you hard. Vou II look with wide cms at the dewy yard And dream, with calm slow factuality: ' Today ' s Commencement M bachelor ' s degree In lh -in. I 1 . my d.utorati of philosoph) In Phys. Ed. [Tanya, they won ' t even . .;; ] Are waiting for me . . Oh. Tatvana. The Angel comes: better to squawk like a chicken Than to say with truth, But I ' m a go:, J girl. And Meet his Challenge with a last firm strange Uncomprehending smile; and then, then!- set rh blind d.itt that has stood you up: oui lift (For all this, if it isn ' t, perhaps, life. Has it t, .it least, .. languagi t its own Different from tin books . »,m t than the books ) let , , vet . . . to have one s life add up to n .- ' Vou sigh .1 shuddering si C h ratyana murmurs. Dun I cry, little pi.tsant ; leans us with a swift Good-bye. bood-byt Ah. don ' t think ill of me . . Your eves open: you sit here thoughtless]-. I love vou -and vet and vet- 1 love vou. Don ' t cry. little peasant. Sit and dream One comes, a linger s width beneath your skin. In tin braided maidens singing as they spin. i nd the shepherd ' s pipe, the watchman ' s rattk A, ioss the short dark distance of the years. I am a thought ol i. ' ins and vet. vou do not think . . . hi ol a long, blind, dreaming storv Lingers upon your lips; and I have seen Firm, fixed forever in vour .losing eve . The Corn King beckoning to his Spring Queen.

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CHAOS