Читать книгу Pageant of Seasons - Helen Stiles Chenoweth - Страница 9

SPRING

Disciplined by rain

white crane image distorted

in dimpled waters . . .

Wind rage of March

breaks the hermetic seal

of sea's hibernation.

Lost in the blue haze

a solitary marsh hawk—

rising and falling . . .

Pampas grass

waving directions to speeding drivers

in wild March wind . . .

Spring's color swatches:

black, tilled earth, barley green fields,

golden winter wheat.

Eucalyptus trees

in long lines of lashing rains—

more trees and more rain.

Shine of swamp grasses,

fringe of shimmering river—

sun frames a picture . . .

Wind and the willow

make their own patterns, defy

the stream's roiled waters.

A blue jay was loved

though he ate every berry

prior to our picking.

Long line of white wash

crayoned the air with clouds

and one black shirt.

A wheeling bee

ransacks flowering quince—

drama of defeat!

Up high the freshet

announces spring, then hurries

toward the quiet sea . . .

Man's stomach hears noon

in a whistle overhead

and a young bird cries—

Importunate wind

sends jays sunbeam-diving . . .

man buttons his coat.

Soughing waters

and vacancy sign on the house—

the sea gulls cry . . .

In this strange garden

the same notes, the same calls—

birds of my childhood.

Archaic smell,

and yet spring's conscious green

on moss-grown headstones!

Boy snares the spring moon

in his water bucket and dreams

of rocket ships . . .

Spring rain pelting down

on winter's heap of dry leaves—

sound disintegrates.

Boy flying his kite

with authority in string

and his small hands.

That old rooftop

brags of spring in opera voice

of one mockingbird.

Gentle reminder:

for the first mockingbird's song

there is no title . . .

Liquid sounds of April:

that bubbling in the orchard

from one cow blackbird.

There is the quiet

of crickets and tree frogs

and one man thinking . . .

Those tossed peanuts

fail to impress greedy squirrels

with donor's blindness . . .

To shed a cloak

of pain when seeing friends

with spring's first lilacs . . .

That moonlight of spring—

no soporific for crickets

and mockingbirds.

Matching spring's wits

the ball thrown by the boy

chased madly by the dog.

Braided ivy vines

held many bird songs but spring

chose a single nest.

The grape hyacinths

purple the garden path edge—

no trespassing!

First, clowning jays,