"Oh, The Places You'll Go"
. . . the title of Dr. Seuss' last (and perhaps best) book, completed shortly before he died.
I can tell you that the sun sets early but slowly
On Macchu Picchu, climbing the broken walls,
The little tilting courtyards closing in the dark,
And Neruda walking there, his declaiming voice
In the high air touching each place with a poem.
This was after Paris, crossing a narrow bridge
Over the Seine, young Jeanne Moreau reciting
A passage of Baudelaire, J'ai plus de souvenirs
que si j'avais mille ans, as though she knew
I would understand, and only in that moment
I did, as she kissed me and walked into the night
And the lights of the Théâtre National Populaire.
Each bridge I cross reminds me of somewhere -
The Huangshui River where the path became
Two and I stood there undecided, looking up
At Cold Mountain to where I meant to follow
Han Shan, never finding him, but his poems
Were there on cliffs, the walls by temple gates.
And over the Yellow River, where Li Po folded
His poems and set them on the water, drifting
By where I watched him drown, drunk and
Trying to embrace the moon in the water.
The thing about bridges is not every one needs
To be crossed, walking with Jim Wright along
The Ohio so slow it seemed to stop, as he did,
Saying why would anyone go to Wheeling, W.V.
Once too I walked with Jeffers along the cliffs
Of Carmel, neither of us saying much, hearing
The high hawks circling above the sea-spray,
Knowing even then how it would all be lost.
Oh vivid memories of the life I've not lived.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2013-03-07 at 21:47
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