Consent?
"What use to learn the lessons taught by time
if a star at any time might tell us: Now."
Howard Nemerov in "The Consent"
If a star at anytime might tell us Now
as stars have done the leaves and have done you,
a great among the century's great bards,
what use indeed have we to learn the lessons
taught by time—except that we have learned,
from Yeats and Frost and You, of Poetry,
at once a valued lesson learned and guarded
well against the stars and their morés.
Nothing has been for nothing, Laureate:
your students cannot wander in a meadow
without wond‘ring after amateurs
cannot view a man and dog walking
without a sense of partnership a mud
turtle without the bending grass a jet
descending over the Lady in the Harbor
without a sense of you there in her torch.
We try today, as you had done, to notice
the awesome things that matter least to some
and most to poets, and record the cycles
of those stars in their reversed abyss
and we wonder at the easy pace
with which we all step out toward that Now,
and hope, in some perversion of the truth,
they have no certain target specified.
Amœba
Something about the cosmos comes to mind,
something tragic, something without end:
something about amœba growing larger
flailing through the ages into fish
crawling onto land and growing legs
fur and feathers, hands and claws and wings
skin, black white brown yellow red and hair
then building gods, inventing them and kneeling
to their Names and to their Sons and killing
others in the name of those god-Names
then begging off responsibility
because those gods could wash away the sins
and leave the overgrown amœba clean,
washed as if its scillia were pure.
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