Who is the voyager in these leaves?
Who is the traveler in this journey
Deciphers the revolving night: receives
The signal from the light returning?
America was promises to whom?
East were the
Dead kings and the remembered sepulchers:
West was the grass.
The groves of the oaks were at evening.
Eastward are the nights where we have slept.
And we move on: we move down:
With the first light we push forward:
We descend from the past as a wandering people from mountains.
We cross into the day to be discovered.
The dead are left where they fall-at dark
At night late under the coverlets.
We mark the place with the shape of our teeth on our fingers.
The room is left as it was: the love
Who is the traveler in these leaves these
Annual waters and beside the doors
Jonquils: then the rose: the eaves
Heaping the thunder up: the mornings
Opening on like great valleys
Never till now approached: the familiar trees
Far off: distant with the future:
The hollyhocks beyond the afternoons:
The butterflies over the ripening fruit on the balconies:
And all beautiful
All before us
America was always promises.
From the first voyage and the first ship there were promises-
‘the tropic bird which does not sleep at sea’
‘the great mass of dark heavy clouds which is a sign’
‘the drizzle of rain without wind is a sure sign’
‘the whale which is an indication’
‘the stalk loaded with roseberries’
‘and all these signs were from the west’
‘and all night heard birds passing.’
Who is the voyager on these coasts?
Who is the traveler in these waters
Expects the future as a shore: foresees
Like Indies to the west the ending-he
The rumor of the surf intends?
America was promises-to whom?
Jefferson knew:
Declared it before God and before history:
Declares it still in the remembering tomb.
The promises were Man’s: the land was his-
Man endowed by his Creator:
Earnest in love: perfectible by reason:
Just and perceiving justice: his natural nature
Clear and sweet at the source as springs in trees are.
It was Man the promises contemplated.
The times had chosen man: no other:
Bloom on his face of every future:
Brother of stars and of all travelers:
Brother of time and of all mysteries:
Brother of grass also: of fruit trees.
It was Man who had been promised: who should have.
Man was to ride from the Tidewater: over the Gap:
West and South with the water: taking the book with him:
Taking the wheat seed: corn seed: pip of apple:
Building liberty a farmyard wide:
Breeding for useful labor: for good looks:
For husbandry: humanity: for pride-
Practising self-respect and common decency.
And Man turned into men in Philadelphia
Practising prudence on a long-term lease:
Building liberty to fit the parlor:
Bred for crystal on the frontroom shelves:
Just and perceiving justice by the dollar:
Patriotic with the bonds at par
(And their children’s children brag of their deeds for the Colonies)
Man rode up from the Tidewater: over the Gap:
Turned into men: turned into two-day settlers:
Lawyers with the land-grants in their caps:
Coon-skin voters wanting theirs and getting it.
Turned the promises to capital: invested it.
America was always promises:
‘the wheel like a sun as big as a cart wheel
with many sorts of pictures on it
the whole of fine gold’
‘twenty golden ducks
beautifully worked and very natural looking
and some like dogs of the kind they keep’
And they waved us west from the dunes: they cried out
Colua! Mexico! …Colua!
America was promises to whom?
Old Man Adams knew. He told us-
An aristocracy of compound interest
Hereditary through the common stock!
We’d have one sure before the mare was older.
“The first want of every man was his dinner:
The second his girl.” Kings were by the pocket.
Wealth made blood made wealth made blood made wealthy.
Enlightened selfishness gave lasting light.
Winners bred grandsons: losers only bred!
And the Aristocracy of politic selfishness
Bought the land up: bought the towns: the sites:
The goods: the government: the people. Bled them.
Sold them. Kept the profit. Lost itself.
The Aristocracy of Wealth and Talents
Turned its talents into wealth and lost them.
Turned enlightened selfishness to wealth.
Turned self-interest into bankbooks: balanced them.
Bred out: bred to fools: to hostlers:
Card sharps: well dressed women: dancefloor doublers.
The Aristocracy of Wealth and Talents
Sold its talents: bought the public notice:
Drank in public: went to bed in public:
Patronized the arts in public: pall’d with
Public authors public beauties: posed in
Public postures for the public page.
The Aristocracy of Wealth and Talents
Withered of talent and ashamed of wealth
Bred to sonsinlaw: insane relations:
Girls with open secrets: sailors’ Galahads:
Prurient virgins with the tales to tell:
Women with dead wombs and living wishes.
The Aristocracy of Wealth and Talents
Moved out: settled on the Coninent:
Sat beside the water at Rapallo:
Died in a rented house: unwept: unhonored.
And the child says I see the lightning on you.
The weed between the railroad tracks
Tasting of sweat: tasting of poverty:
The bitter and pure taste where the hawk hovers:
Native as the deer bone in the sand
O my America for whom?
For whom the promises? For whom the river
“It flows west! Look at the ripple of it!”
The grass “so that it was wonderful to see
And the endless without end with wind wonderful!”
The Great Lakes: landless as oceans: their beaches
Coarse sand: clean gravel: pebbles:
Their bluffs smelling of sunflowers: smelling of surf:
Of fresh water: of wild sunflowers…wilderness.
For whom the evening mountains on the sky:
The night wind from the west: the moon descending?
Tom Paine knew.
Tom Paine knew the People.
The promises were spoken to the People.
History was voyages toward the People.
Amercas were landfalls of the People.
Stars and expectations were the signals of the People.
Whatever was truly built the people built it.
Whatever was taken down they had taken it down.
Whatever was worn they had worn-ax handles: fiddle-bows:
Sills of doorways: names for children: for mountains.
Whatever was long forgotten they had forgotten-
Fame of the great: names of the rich and their mottos.
The People had the promises: they’d keep them.
They waited their time in the world: they had wise sayings.
They counted out their time by day to day.
They counted it out day after day into history.
They had time and to spare in the spill of their big fists.
They had all the time there was like a handful of wheat seed.
When the time came they would speak and the rest would listen.
And the time came and the People did not speak.
The time came: the time comes: the speakers
Come and these who speak are not the People.
These who speak with gunstocks at the doors:
These the coarse ambitious priest
Leads by the bloody fingers forward:
These who reach with stiffened arm to touch
What none who took dared touch before:
These who touch the truth are not the People.
These the savage fables of the time
Lick at the fingers as a bitch will waked at morning:
These who teach the lie are not the People.
The time came: the time comes
Comes and to whom? To these? Was it for these
The surf was secret on the new-found shore?
Was it for these the branch was on the water?-
These whom all the years were toward
The golden images the clouds the mountains?
Never before: never in any summer:
Never were days so generous: stars so mild:
Even in old men’s talk or in books or remembering
Far back in a gone childhood
Or farther still to the light where Homer wanders-
The air all lucid with the solemn blue
That hills take at the distance beyond change…
That time takes also at the distances.
Never were there promises as now:
Never was green deeper: earth warmer:
Light more beautiful to see: the sound of
Water lovelier: the many forms of
Leaves: stones: clouds: beasts: shadows
Clearer more admirable or the faces
More like answering faces or the hands
Quicker: more brotherly:
the aching taste of
Time more salt upon the tongue: more human
Never in any summer: and to whom?
At dusk: by street lights: in the rooms we ask this.
We do not ask for Truth now from John Adams.
We do not ask for Tongues from Thomas Jefferson.
We do not ask for Justice from Tom Paine.
We ask for answers.
And there is an answer.
There is Spain Austria Poland China Bohemia.
There are dead men in the pits in all those countries.
Their mouths are silent but they speak. They say
“The promises are theirs who take them.”
Listen! Brothers! Generation!
Listen! You have heard these words. Believe it!
Believe the promises are theirs who take them!
Believe unless we take them for ourselves
Others will take them for the use of others!
Believe unless we take them for ourselves
All of us: one here; another there:
Men not Man: people not the People:
Hands: mouths: arms: eyes: not syllables-
Believe unless we take them for ourselves
Others will take them not for us: for others!
Believe unless we take them for ourselves
Now: soon: by the clock: before tomorrow:
Others will take them: not for now: for longer!
Listen! Brothers! Generation!
Companions of leaves: of the sun: of the slow evenings:
Companions of the many days: of all of them:
Listen! Believe the speaking dead! Believe
The journey is our journey. O believe
The signals were to us: the signs: the birds by
Night: the breaking surf.
Believe
America is promises to
Take!
America is promises to
Us
To take them
Brutally
With love but
Take them.
O believe this!