A Poem Memorized

I have finally memorized the poem I was given: "The Solitude of Cataracts."


He never felt twice the same about the flecked river,
Which kept flowing and never the same way twice, flowing

Through many places, as if it stood still in one,
Fixed like a lake on which the wild ducks fluttered,

Ruffling it's common reflections, thought-like Monadnocks,
There seemed to be an apostrophe that was not spoken.

There was so much that was real that was not real at all.
He wanted to feel the same way over and over.

He wanted the river to go on flowing the same way,
To keep on flowing. He wanted to walk beside it,

Under the buttonwoods, beneath a moon nail fast.
He wanted his heart to stop beating and his mind to rest

In permanent realization, without any wild ducks
Or mountains that were not mountains, just to know how it
would be,

Just to know how it would feel, released from destruction,
To be a bronze man breathing under archaic lapis,

Without any oscillations of planetary pass-pass,
Breathing is bronzen breath at the azury center of time.


Now if I remember correctly, the class will be reciting their memorized poems this next week. However, due to a senior graphic design trip to Seattle I will not be in class all that week. Perhaps I could present my poem to the class today? I guess I will have to wait and see what Sexson thinks.


On a side note...An irish poet by the name of Derek Mahon was clearly inspired by "Solitude of Cataracts" and in his own poem has given us his perspective.

 "Heraclitus On Rivers"

Nobody steps into the same river twice.
The same river is never the same
Because that is the nature of water.
Similarly your changing metabolism
means that you are no longer you.
The cells die, and the precise
Configuration of the heavenly bodies
When she told you she loved you
Will not come again in this lifetime.

You will tell me that you have executed
A monument more lasting than bronze;
But even bronze is perishable.
Your best poem, you know the one I mean,
The very language in which the poem
Was written, and the idea of language,
All this things will pass away with time.