May 2021 3 113 Report
�������A trifle . . . c/c?

Within my garden fast beside a wall

Where I was digging in another age

I found entombed in earth a child’s toy,

A soldier all in tin from some great war;

And when I wiped away the grime that time

Had placed upon his face and uniform

I saw he was a manneken all dressed

In red, as if he bled his life away.

And in my mind I heard vain Xerxes say

To Artabanus, as the two surveyed

The mighty Persian army there arrayed

Before them, in a century, or less,

All the grand warriors now proud and strong

Would be sad memories and nothing more.

Why did I have to find him there today?

The very day I came to do my chore

Of cleaning out the chimney, so the soot

Of seasons’ fires past could be removed

For a new start. And there, down in the dust

And ash of yesteryear I found the bones

And feathers of a robin that had flown

Into the depths, safe haven from the storm,

To sing an hour or two, and then his breast

Incarnadine to rise and fall no more.

I’d heard him sing so sweetly months ago

But I’d forgotten him, too easily

It seemed to me, and now the silent void

Where he once trilled was but a dusty grave.

What do they mean, these sad epiphanies?

Why do my eyes grow cold and moist as I

Look out on sunsets dressed in cochineal

And hear the beating of two tiny wings,

Then hear them stop as crimson turns to gray?

I walk tonight beside the ocean’s quern

And feel the Spindle of Necessity

That runs through all transfix me to this place

Of shadow figures marching hand in hand.

They tread, a sad procession, ‘round the flame

That flickers at the center of the night.

And yet, I could forget the daunting sight

Had I not looked back at a beauty veiled

And seen my footsteps too washed from the sand.

Update:

Please note the novelistic techniques. The toy soldier and robin are both dressed in red, and at the last so is the sunset. When reading "I /Look out on sunsets dressed in cochineal / And hear the beating of two tiny wings" remember that cochineal dye originally was extracted from the bodies of Dactylopius coccus, and was introduced to Europe by Spanish conquerors in Mexico. Are the "two tiny wings" those of the ill-starred robin of S2 or those insects. Suddenly, the two merge, ages are spanned, and we are brought into the presence of the universal, the timeless vault of "ocean's quern" and the "Spindle of Necessity." The procession of "shadow figures" is reminiscent of the Indian pageant fanushi khiyal alluded to in the "Rubaiyat" of Omar Khayyam, which itself is symbolic of life. By the way, this poem was written years ago, when I lived in another place and heated with coal. I did find the robin the day I dug up the toy

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