|From the book The Wild Rose|
|Legends and Fantasies|
(1976 - 1978)
|Preamble to the Song|
|The dark words crowd|
before him like troubled water...
|He doesn't lift his eyes – and the water |
takes away his eyes. The double blindness
of the legend roars all around.
So this is what you are, horrible water,
you, the clinging matter of the instant,
the conception that has closed
the eyes itself, hostile to birth.
The unabandonable cradle of shame.
But like the two-note pipe to the dragon,
whistling an internal vision,
forces a repetition of it, then,
when the blind man put on his knees
his light lyre, when he finds over it
shining with the small change of amazing things
an almost divine outfit,
then holding the vast light before us,
we walk slowly, forewarned by you.