the
burden of a city
and
Indians!
this
is where I came in
by
the pest-house, through the old woods
(not
over that flubbery span no sentinal owns
comes
into one’s own reality
making
the place by pacing the place, live
(or
live, change
vowel eye, heart
the
stature commensurate
to
the gist of the nation,
imagination .
. . . .
again
the curve, the way it slants in,
the
lay of the land
unseen
but by
Indians! then
(thanks
ever be to Charles Olson for “Indians!” then
.
. . . .
the
alien eyes, mine eyes have seen the,
mine
eyes alien
Dutch
not
Indian!
outer
planetary!
were
keener for the curve,
how
wolves and lions came in
(“some affirme that they
have seene a Lyon
at
Cape Anne which is not above six leagues from Boston”
.
. . . .
so I
round another man’s measure to round out my own:
to
speak of “discovera”
the
pristine we work to inherit,
native
lode
to
shoot out again,
is
not to make up,
some
queer hemisphaera,
it
is to smell
to
dig with the hand
to
demonstrate
and
at least
to
reclaim
to
come in
like
Indians!
on
this curve
from the
ravening wood
to
a city
we
once could be citizens of.
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