A winter evening approaches over the Little Union Canal.
When we moved here, I went to a great deal of trouble trying to find out the name of this
100-year-old stream, Finally, at the local Historical Society, I found it was named the
Little Union Canal, and had been dug using horsepower quite early in the 20th Century.
Last month, a map came in the mail detailing the road extension nearby. On the map,
this canal is clearly labeled Eagle Drain. (This is the town of Eagle, Idaho.)
Isn't that truly ugly? I think my heart may break. . .
Narcissus and Echo
Shall the water not remember Ember
my hand's slow gesture tracing above of
its mirror my half imaginary airy
portrait. My only belonging longing;
is my beauty, which I take ache
away and then return as love of
teasing playfully the one being unbeing.
whose gratitude I treasure Is your
move me. I live apart heart
from myself, yet cannot not
live apart. In the water's tone stone?
that brilliant silence, a flower Hour,
whispers my name with such slight light:
moment, it seems filament of air, fare
the world become cloudswell. well.
The Language They Speak Is Things To Eat; poems by North Carolina Poets. Univ. of North Carolina Press, 1994, page 111.
Over the past year, I have found some of the most interesting poems in topical or regional anthologies like this one. I got this book because A. R. Ammons is in it, but there is plenty of other good poetry in it as well.
The magical double strategy of this poem is that the end word of each line rhymes with the end word, as well as making another poem, or cry, by itself. And all of it goes with the story of Narcissus and Echo!
Now I think of how I would manage the task of trying something like this, only shorter, to begin with, because the idea is soooo interesting!
I should also mention how much I like the word-compound "cloudswell" which lifted up my heart.