In June, amid the golden fields,
I saw a groundhog lying dead.
Dead lay he; my senses shook,
And mind outshot our naked frailty.
There lowly in the vigorous summer
His form began its senseless change,
And made my senses waver dim
Seeing nature ferocious in him.
Inspecting close his maggots’ might
And seething cauldron of his being,
Half with loathing, half with a strange love,
I poked him with an angry stick.
The fever arose, became a flame
And Vigour circumscribed the skies,
Immense energy in the sun,
And through my frame a sunless trembling.
My stick had done nor good nor harm.
Then stood I silent in the day
Watching the object, as before;
And kept my reverence for knowledge
Trying for control, to be still,
To quell the passion of the blood;
Until I had bent down on my knees
Praying for joy in the sight of decay.
And so I left; and I returned
In Autumn strict of eye, to see
The sap gone out of the groundhog,
But the bony sodden hulk remained.
But the year had lost its meaning,
And in intellectual chains
I lost both love and loathing,
Mured up in the wall of wisdom.
Another summer took the fields again
Massive and burning, full of life,
But when I chanced upon the spot
There was only a little hair left,
And bones bleaching in the sunlight
Beautiful as architecture;
I watched them like a geometer,
And cut a walking stick from a birch.
It has been three years, now.
There is no sign of the groundhog.
I stood there in the whirling summer,
My hand capped a withered heart,
And thought of China and of Greece,
Of Alexander in his tent;
Of Montaigne in his tower,
Of Saint Theresa in her wild lament.
June 27, 2007
September 2, 2009 at 12:48 am
[…] beautiful opening lines of Richard Eberhart’s poetic cycle of decay and regeneration, “The Groundhog.” In June, amid the golden fields, I saw a groundhog lying dead. Dead lay he; my senses […]
March 25, 2011 at 9:14 pm
Love the title of your blog.
HANG IN THERE!
April 16, 2011 at 9:50 pm
In the last line, is he referring to St. Theresa, the Little Flower, of Lisieux; or to St. Teresa of Avila? What is the wild lament?
April 16, 2011 at 10:38 pm
I don’t see it necessary to be taken literally, referencing a particular St.Theresa but rather for what it evokes — a deeply religious experience of feelings of separation from Krishna, the Supreme Lord, God.
That there are two St Theresas may be a deliberate ambiguity, implying that thee may even be a third Theresa, and if a third, why can’t I also share that deep emotion spurred on by the utter temporariness of the material body.
June 13, 2011 at 3:52 pm
Thank you. One of the greats – right up there with Homer & Yeats. This poem will always be inseperable in my mind with one by the great Kenneth Patchen:
What There Is
In this my green world
Flowers birds are hands
They hold me
I am loved all day
All this pleases me
I am amused
I have to laugh from crying
Trees mountains are arms
I am loved all day
Children grass are tears
I cry
I am loved all day
Everything
Pompous makes me laugh
I am amused often enough
In this
My beautiful green world
There’s love all day
PS
Like your slogan
“The cows may come, the cows may go, but the bull is always here.”
Reminds me of that rap by Eminem
But there’s one thing I know:
Bitches they come they go,
Saturday thru Sunday Monday,
Sunday thru Monday yo!
Maybe I’ll love you one-day,
Maybe we’ll someday grow,
Till then just get your drunk-ass on that fucking runway ho!
June 14, 2011 at 8:45 am
I like this line,
“Everything
Pompous makes me laugh”.
July 8, 2011 at 1:26 pm
[…] Wheeler every Friday night and read to them from Stevens, Williams and Thomas. During World War II Richard Eberhart was teaching at Alameda Naval Air Station. William Everson and Saunders Russell were C.O.’s […]
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