Trzy wiersze

Nie znam zbyt dobrze poezji Ursuli Le Guin. Wczoraj przypadkiem (?) trafiłem na trzy jej wiersze, napisane w listopadzie 2006 roku, które zdecydowanie zasługują na miejsce w poetyckich wypisach Lómendila. To wiersze z rodzaju tych, które zwalają z nóg, trafiają w samo serce, porywają, czy jak tam jeszcze to nazwać. Ci, którzy należą do Sekretnego Stowarzyszenia, wiedzą, o co chodzi.

Ursula K. Le Guin

Learning the Name
for Bette

The wood thrush, it is! Now I know
who sings that clear arpeggio,
three far notes weaving
into the evening
among leaves
       and shadow;

or at dawn in the woods, I've heard
the sweet ascending triple word
echoing over
the silent river —
but never
       seen the bird.

* * *

Intimations

Why is it I want to cry?
Crow, crow, tell me.

There is a shadow passing by.
The willows call me.

Why would an old woman weep?
Willow, tell me, willow.

Crows went flying through my sleep.
I cry and follow.

* * *

Every Land 

(From a saying of Black Elk)

Watch where the branches of the willows bend
See where the waters of the rivers tend
Graves in the rock, cradles in the sand
Every land is the holy land

Here was the battle to the bitter end
Here's where the enemy killed the friend
Blood on the rock, tears on the sand
Every land is the holy land

Willow by the water bending in the wind
Bent till it's broken and it will not stand
Listen to the word the messengers send
Life like the broken rock, death like the sand
Every land is the holy land