The world appears as it appeared before—
All the words and things—
O terrible!  Incalculable!
The art of living is a simple ruse
As irregular and capricious as the patterns.

There are things to be said.  No doubt.
That stalled moment.  It too is flowing, fleeting,
Sun and moon and day and night and man and beast—
What was seen, what was thought,
There is no one pleasure in't;

And suddenly we understand,
Each happening happens in an already moving world,
Searchlights controlled by unseen hands,
All living things huddle, shut their eyes.
This is an ancient gesture, authentic, antique.


(1) Tom Disch, "The Clouds"; (2) Tom Disch, "Let's Make A List"; (3) Mervyn Peake, "The Rhyme of the Flying Bomb"; (4) Felix Pollak, "Four Quatrains"; (5) Felix Pollak, "A Day"; (6) Cid Corman, untitled; (7) John Ashbery, "Syringa"; (8) Marianne Moore, "The Pangolin"; (9) Marvin Bell, "The 3 Corners of Reality"; (10) Robert Herrick, "A Hymn to Bacchus"; (11) Bill Knott, "Plunge"; (12) William Bronk, "The Rain of Small Occurrences"; (13) Stanley Kunitz, "The Abduction"; (14) Tomas Transtromer, "Downpour over the Interior"; (15) Edna St. Vincent Millay, "An Ancient Gesture."