Selected Poems. James Tate

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СКАЧАТЬ the railroad meets the sea,

      you have stepped over the barrier.

      Where the railroad meets the sea,

      you will understand afterwards.

      Where the railroad meets the sea,

      where the railroad meets the sea—

      I know only that our paths lie together,

      and you cannot endure if you remain alone.

The Indian Undertaker

      There is a man carrying an armload of lilacs

      across the field: he may be a lost Indian

      as he is whistling, very beautifully, a tune

      to the birds I have never heard. I am in back

      of him, following at a distance. Three small quail,

      perhaps hypnotized, rise and circle his head.

      I want to stop the man and ask him what he said

      to make them feel so safe, but I feel

      weak and dizzy. His whistling begins to chill

      my neck, as if the wind from his lips were

      rushing round me. If only I were agile

      like this family of field mice heading for

      the river; still, I am not sorry I came here.

      A lilac is falling like a piece of sky

      from his arms; it seems to take ten minutes or more.

      Finally it kisses the wet earth. I

      start running—the lilac is waiting for me.

      Here you are! I feel the first emotions of love.

      And, look, a snail is holding on to your leaf

      for all he’s worth. So slowly he moves,

      humming a psalm to the god of snails.

      The lilac swoons. The ground is sapphire

      and the trees are topaz. I feel as if I were

      attending my own funeral, the air a jail

      of music and cool yellow fire.

The Initiation

      The long wake continues,

      quiet and moronic expressions.

      The jowl of the dead

      is agape with infinite abandon

      as if he were about to sing:

      if we concentrate

      he may remember the words.

      In comes a man with a dog

      on a chain; then several others.

      The room is bathed

      in plaster of paris.

      In the background

      a deep, abundant fugue has begun.

      The piece is dedicated

      to me. How strange,

      I thought I was new here.

      They stop playing,

      file quickly into another room.

      As I begin to leave

      shafts of darkness reach out

      and close the little door.

Consumed

      Why should you believe in magic,

      pretend an interest in astrology

      or the tarot? Truth is, you are

      free, and what might happen to you

      today, nobody knows. And your

      personality may undergo a radical

      transformation in the next half

      hour. So it goes. You are consumed

      by your faith in justice, your

      hope for a better day, the rightness

      of fate, the dreams, the lies

      the taunts—Nobody gets what he

      wants. A dark star passes through

      you on your way home from

      the grocery: never again are you

      the same—an experience which is

      impossible to forget, impossible

      to share. The longing to be pure

      is over. You are the stranger

      who gets stranger by the hour.

Shadowboxing

      Sometimes you almost get a punch in.

      Then you may go for days without even seeing him,

      or his presence may become a comfort

      for a while.

      He says: I saw you scrambling last night

      on your knees and hands.

      He says: How come you always want to be

      something else, how come you never take your life

      seriously?

      And you say: Shut up! Isn’t it enough

      I say I love you, I give you everything!

      He moves across the room with his hand

      on his chin, and says: How great you are!

      Come here, let me touch you, you say.

      He comes closer. Come close, you say.

      He comes closer. Then. Whack! And

      you start again, moving around and around

      the room, the room СКАЧАТЬ