Summer 1980 • Vol. II No. 3 Poetry |

From Changes

The House Is Empty Among the first small perfections of the spring, Each flower still hardly a new knot on the limb, The people of Ugarit in Canaan, both men and women, Would meet at dawn, and reveling through the town Dance to the high fields, where the last year's vine Lay withering. In the flat light They honed their pruning-knives, and the young men sang. Old Death-and-Rot sits in the King's seat Holding the instruments of power Dead sticks lifted. Death to wives and children. Cut the dry twigs off the vine Cut the rotted hand and arm. Tie the live vine to the stick Tie the Death-King to his seat. Work the ground for the reaching root Cut the Old Man's useless part. Now the field is like the field Where Gods walk in the grain, Let Asherat and the virgin Flourish among flowers. When the king goes up to the holy place alone In the god's tongue he holds converse with Ba'al Hearing such words the bone that drums in his ear Beats in his brain. If he comes back down deaf To men's t

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The Flower¹

By Edwin Watkins

The House Is Empty Among the first small perfections of the spring, Each flower still hardly a new knot on the limb, The people of Ugarit in Canaan, both men […]

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