stars you inquisitive
animals
shall I tell you the same things
again shall I tell you all the places
I went when I had nowhere to go
shall I draw you a map
while it is still night
with morning around the edges
I will take the face of dawn
in my hands and say it
surely if I can tell anyone
I can tell her
that I have found
the gods and discovered
I am not one of them
if I must have
faith in something
it might as well be the desert
as the river it might as well be
today as tomorrow my fingers
as my teeth it might
as well be despair
all I can do for the moth
is light the candle
all I can do for the forgotten
is forget
—RICHARD SHELTON—
2 comments:
I was looking for this poem recently, which long ago I cut out of The New Yorker magazine (1971, I believe it was, but over the years lost it) and was so glad to have found it here. Thank you for posting it. Shelton was one of my earliest influences, and this was one of the first poems by him I'd read. It is still as lovely and haunting as it was the first time I read it. Thank you, again. Paul Haenel
so happy for you! I also cut Totem out of the New Yorker, and still have that clipping in my files. I agree about "lovely and haunting"--I memorized and still can recite it. As an adult I've spent a fair amount of time in Tucson and I love the desert so very much. Nice that you discovered this inactive blog, too! peace!
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