The mouth of the Hudson
A single man stands like a bird-watcher,
and scuffles the pepper and salt snow
from a discarded, gray
Westinghouse Electric cable drum.
He cannot discover America by counting
the chains of condemned freight-trains
from thirty states. They jolt and jar
and junk in the siding below him.
He has trouble with his balance.
His eyes drop,
and he drifts with the wild ice
ticking seaward down the Hudson,
like the blank sides of a jig-saw puzzle.
and scuffles the pepper and salt snow
from a discarded, gray
Westinghouse Electric cable drum.
He cannot discover America by counting
the chains of condemned freight-trains
from thirty states. They jolt and jar
and junk in the siding below him.
He has trouble with his balance.
His eyes drop,
and he drifts with the wild ice
ticking seaward down the Hudson,
like the blank sides of a jig-saw puzzle.
The ice
ticks seaward like a clock.
A negro toasts
wheat-seeds over the coke-fumes
of a punctured barrel.
Chemical air
sweeps in from New Jersey,
and smells of coffee.
A negro toasts
wheat-seeds over the coke-fumes
of a punctured barrel.
Chemical air
sweeps in from New Jersey,
and smells of coffee.
Across the river,
ledges of suburban factories tan
in the sulphur-yellow sun
of the unforgivable landscape.
ledges of suburban factories tan
in the sulphur-yellow sun
of the unforgivable landscape.
Robert Lowell
Robert
y Elisabeth fueron amigos
durante mucho tiempo. Cuando los leo me da la sensación de que entiendo su
conexión: miraban de otra forma, de una forma que muy pocos miraban por aquel
entonces. La cabeza de ella, más sosegada que la de él, ambas preclaras y
avanzadas. Seguiré con ellos poco a poco.
Un buen análisis de la poética de Lowell se encuentra en este
libro. En las páginas 215 y siguientes tenéis el referido Hudson. Y otra
referencia se halla aquí,
donde se pone como contrapartida El puente, de Crane, al que aún no le he
dedicado ninguna entrada, pero llegará.
