Spring 1944 • Vol. VI No. 2 Poetry |

Cuban Voyage

A young man growing old, an old man aging, Walked the white snow-smelling road. You cried: "No more to feel that snarling sadness grab Body and mind as a dog a bone, to hide No more that horror in the curved skull raging —"To crash like a car and burn, hear your mouth blab Honest body pain will can't forbid, No sneaking ache not even friends can see, Hope hobbling, whistling like a club-foot kid, Pride crawling blindly like the backward crab." So flew by plane the salt shark-hating sea. Your eyes filled with salt sea. That city Tasting like a too ripe foreign fruit. Air in which the violent light shrieked, Pity! The cruel ape sorrow climbs him like a tree! Land where the sugar cane took shallow root, Land fat with the carrion-eating flower: Unreal to a pale and northern man the roar Of burro, parrot, boy in the hot noon hour, Wanting his winter night, birdless and mute. A naked, asking land for one who wore Grief around him like a growing skin, Too much, too thickened life for one

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