Читать книгу The Glass Constellation - Arthur Sze - Страница 77

Grapes grow up a difficult and

sloped terrain. A soft line of poplars

shimmers in the disappearing light.

At midnight, the poor move

into the train stations of Italy,

spread out blankets for the children,

and pretend to the police they have tickets

and are waiting for a train.

The statue of Bacchus is a contrast

with his right hand holding a shallow but

wine-brimming cup. His left hand

reaches easily into the cornucopia

where grapes ripen and burst open.

It is a vivid dream: to wake

from the statue’s grace and life force

to the suffering in the streets.

But the truth is the cornucopia

is open to all who are alive,

who look and feel the world in

its pristine beauty—as a dragonfly

hovering in the sunlight over clear

water; and who feel the world

as a luminous world—as green plankton

drifting at night in the sea.