Читать книгу Al Que Quiere! - William Carlos Williams - Страница 3

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Where shall I find you,

you my grotesque fellows

that I seek everywhere

to make up my band?

None, not one

with the earthy tastes I require;

the burrowing pride that rises

subtly as on a bush in May.

Where are you this day,

you my seven year locusts

with cased wings?

Ah my beauties how I long—!

That harvest

that shall be your advent—

thrusting up through the grass,

up under the weeds

answering me,

that shall be satisfying! The light shall leap and snap that day as with a million lashes! Oh, I have you; yes you are about me is a sense: playing under the blue pools that are my windows— but they shut you out still, there in the half light.

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For the simple truth is

that though I see you clear enough

you are not there!

It is not that—it is you,

you I want!

—God, if I could fathom

the guts of shadows!

You to come with me

poking into negro houses

with their gloom and smell!

In among children

leaping around a dead dog!

Mimicking

onto the lawns of the rich!

You!

to go with me a-tip-toe

head down under heaven,

nostrils lipping the wind!