I
Large bright portal,
edge of rock, rock
set in outgoing long
set to dark, gray granite, a rock
clearer
clean-cut, black against white. None
goat
-up-up, climb, or a sheep steps
your soft grass
you rise, edge of the world
sky pillar.
world rose:
are close to heaven on us scream
hawks, gulls
plan, the wave is mute
terrible from here.
Down at the edge of the cliff, where land is
dam
cracks of the broken cliff,
a shrub resists wind, bend-but
its white flowers smell at this point.
Well below the wind roars
:
whistles, rumbles, growls, crushing
grass with his big foot.
II
I said
should I follow you always, always,
through the stones? Almost
'll catch up. Escape:
run more than my hand.
amazes me.
shouted: dear, beautiful, mysterious white-pulp
myrtle.
splintered and tore me:
amounted
path faster than my feet.
If a demon could avenge this pain,
you cry, if a ghost could,
cry, oh evil
continues to this god,
laugh at their bad and their service.
III
Do I throw from here,
jump, and so will be with you?
Shall I fall, loved, loved,
ankles together?
Can you give me grief, oh white chest?
If you wake up, do you give sentence,
would meet our eyes?
Have you noticed,
know how I came by this rock?
Shortness of breath, I leaned out, stumbling among the myrtle
. God
the cliff, do you realize how far
are the edges of your house, how I had to walk
?
IV
About me turn the wind. I was at your door
and I know that you are beyond further
yet another cliff. -
---------------- The cliff temple
I
Great, bright portal,
shelf of rock,
rocks fitted in long ledges,
rocks fitted to dark, to silver granite,
to lighter rock-
clean cut, white against white.
High -high- and no hill-goat
tramples –no mountain-sheep
has set foot on your fine grass;
you lift, you are the-world-edge,
pillar for the sky-arch.
The world heaved —
we are next to the sky;
over us, sea-hawks shout,
gulls sweep past —
the terrible breakers are silent
from this place.
Below us, on the rock-edge,
where earth is caught in the fissures
of the jagged cliflf,
a small tree stiffens in the gale,
it bends — but its white flowers
are fragrant at this height.
And under and under,
the wind booms:
it whistles, it thunders,
it growls - it presses the grass
beneath its great feet.
II
I said:
for ever and for ever, must I follow you
through the stones?
I catch at you — you lurch:
you are quicker than my hand-grasp.
I wondered at you.
I shouted — dear-mysterious-beautiful —
white myrtle-flesh.
I was splintered and torn:
the hill-path mounted
swifter than my feet.
Could a daemon avenge this hurt,
I would cry to him — could a ghost,
I would shout — O evil,
follow this god,
taunt him with his evil and his vice.
III
Shall I hurl myself from here,
shall I leap and be nearer you?
Shall I drop, beloved, beloved,
ankle against ankle?
Would you pity me, O white breast?
If I woke, would you pity me,
would our eyes meet?
Have you heard,
do you know how I climbed this rock?
My breath caught, I lurched forward –
I stumbled in the ground-myrtle.
Have you heard, O god seated on the cliff,
how far toward the ledges of your house,
how far I had to walk?
Over
IV
me the wind swirls.
I Have Stood on your portal
I know - You are Further Than
this,
still weitere On Another cliff.
* From Garden by the sea.
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