Entry to the Labors of spring
I.
Heart larger than the body,
leaping from all sides at once
and collapsing from all sides,
back over the body
like a shower of lava,
you, content larger than form, here’s
self-knowledge, here’s
why suffering matter takes birth from itself:
so it can die.
Only he dies who knows himself,
only he is born who is
his own witness.
I need to run, I told myself,
but to do that first I should
pivot my soul
toward my unmoving ancestors,
who have withdrawn into the towers of their bones,
like marrow,
unmoved
like all things taken to their end.
I can run, because they are inside me.
I will run, because only what is
unmoved in itself
can move,
only he who is alone in himself
has company and knows the unrevealed heart
will collapse more powerfully toward its own
center
or,
shattered into planets, will surrender
to fauna and flora,
or
will lie beneath the pyramids,
like the hidden stomach of a strange beast.
II.
Everything is simple, so simple that
it becomes incomprehensible.
Everything is so close, so
close, that
it slips behind the eyes
and is seen no more.
Everything is so perfect
in spring,
that only by surrounding it with myself
can I mark it,
like expanding grass marked
by words for the speaking mouth,
marked by the mouth of the heart,
by the heart to its seed,
to that unmoved in itself, identical
to the pit of the earth
that extends from itself
infinite gravitational arms
and draws everything into itself and suddenly
into an embrace so powerful
that through its arms leaps movement.
III.
I will run, therefore, in every direction
at once,
I will run after my own heart,
like a chariot
simultaneously pulled in every direction
by whipped horses.
IV.
I will run until advance, until rush
itself passes me
and pulls further ahead of me
like the fruit’s skin from its seed,
until running
will run even within itself, and be still.
And I will collapse
over it like a young man
onto his lover.
V.
And once I have let running
pass me by,
once
movement within itself is still
like stone, or
better, like mercury
behind the glass
of a mirror,
I will see inside all things,
I will embrace them with myself,
all things at once,
and they
will throw me back, once
all that was thing in me
has been change, over time, into things.
VI.
See me
remaining what I am,
with flags of loneliness, with shields of chill,
back toward myself I run,
pulling myself from everywhere,
pulling myself from myself before,
behind myself, on my right and
my lift, above and
underneath myself, departing from
everywhere and giving to
everywhere signs that will bring me to mind:
to the sky - stars,
the earth - air
shadows - branches and budding leaves.
VII.
.. odd body, asymmetrical,
surprised by itself
in the presence of spheres,
surprised to stand before the sun,
waiting patiently for light to grow
a body to fit.
VIII.
To keep yourself with your own earth
when you are a seed, when winter
liquefies its white, long bones
and spring arises.
To keep yourself with your own land
when, O human, you are alone, when you are battered
by unlove,
or simply when winter
decomposes and spring
moves its spherical space
like the heart
from itself toward the edge.
To enter purely into the labor
of spring,
to tell seeds they are seeds.
to tell earth it is earth!
But first of all
we are the seeds, we are
those seen from all sides at once,
as though we lived inside an eye,
or a field, where instead of grass
gazes grow - and we
suddenly hard, almost metallic,
cut the blades down with ourselves, so they
will be like every thing
among which we live
and to which
our heart gave birth.
But first of all,
we are the seeds and we prepare
within ourselves to throw ourselves into something
much higher, into something
that has the name of spring…
To be inside phenomena, always
inside phenomena.
To be a seed and keep yourself
with your own earth.
titsay
areudirty
janainaart
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