Wrought by the odd desire for permanence
I’d hammer down that barn’s boards one by one
The ivy’s nudged apart and winds have sprung
And icy blows and summer’s pounding suns.
Those gaping windows, too, and half-cracked panes,
The door that broke from its hinges leans against
The blackened exit mouth, and all such things
As let the rude rot in and thieving rain
I’d be so prompt to take defense against
And fortify and make so sound
You’d think it’d haunt me on some howling night
When all seems waste unless I could
To all that trouble say: this much will stand,
This swallows’ empire for a little while
And bolts of hay in their warm cave
And drifts of straw upon the broad-beamed floor.
Though time must turn all waters for its mill
And nothing is but grist as we well know
What has withstood two hundred years
That rich resistance will do so
If obdurate work allows, for fifty more
For fifty more to house the hay
They cut and piled in strip
(Jean Garrigue)
More Poetry from Jean Garrigue:
- False Country of the Zoo (Jean Garrigue Poems)
- Invitation to a Hay (Jean Garrigue Poems)
- Forrest (Jean Garrigue Poems)
- The Stranger (Jean Garrigue Poems)
- Some Serious Nonsense for the Cats and Wolves (Jean Garrigue Poems)
- The Mask And Knife (Jean Garrigue Poems)