Charles Olson - Poèmes

T H E R IN G O F

i t w as th e w est w ind c a u g h t h er up, as

she rose
from th e g enital
w ave, an d bore h er from th e delicate
foam , hom e
to h er isle

an d those lovers
of th e difficult, th e hours
of th e golden d ay w elcom ed her, clad her, were
as th o u g h th e y h a d m ad e her, w ere w ild
to b rin g th is new th in g b o rn
of th e rin g of th e sea p in k
& naked, th is girl, b ro u g h t her
to th e face of th e gods, violets
in h e r h air

B e a u ty , a n d she
said no to zeus & th e m all, all w ere n o t or
w as i t she chose th e ugliest
to b ed w ith, or w as i t s tra ig h t
a n d to ex p iate th e n a tu re of b e a u ty , w as it?

know ing hours, anyw ay,

she did n o t s ta y long, or th e lam e
w as only one p a rt, & th e handsom e
m ars h a d h e r A nd th e child
h a d th a t nam e, th e arro w of
as th e flight of, th e m ove of
his m o th e r w ho a d o rn e th

w ith m y rtle th e d olphin an d w ords

th e y rise, th e y do w ho
are b o rn of like
elem ents
A rcheologist of m o rn in g ; G rossm an 1973

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