Winter 1944 • Vol. VI No. 1 PoetryJanuary 1, 1944 |

Discourse

If, perfect, the memory fails; if suddenly we're less than it And image of the soul's city is lost and suddenly The curbs we stumbled at and stony dark Have lost their bitter and their stoniness: Then deprivation is what more than this? Privation is a sweetness; it's kith to bone It cousin-clasps; it hurls the heart so down There is an abyss in ecstasy, so hurls, the heart flies up, It will its exercise. Resistance makes its labor. That is, a metaphysic comes of loss. Grief-angry in the desert, we People it with golden lions there And souls, mythologized, promise some radiance To unify the lion and his angel. If suddenly we waken in dead wind, As if all failing stars have rushed out, out, The poles that nourish all resistance felled. As on a sultry river trip the boat must stop For the river has gouged its channels overnight, There is a diminuendo of all rock, bubble of depth. Or the extreme has reached its positivity: The brassy cloud punishes the eye. Voices of birds loathe and ab

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Three Poems

By Jean Garrigue

If, perfect, the memory fails; if suddenly we're less than it And image of the soul's city is lost and suddenly The curbs we stumbled at and stony dark Have […]

J. H.

By Jean Garrigue

If, perfect, the memory fails; if suddenly we're less than it And image of the soul's city is lost and suddenly The curbs we stumbled at and stony dark Have […]

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