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Wallace Stevens (Уоллес Стивенс)


Not Ideas about the Thing but the Thing Itself


At the earliest ending of winter,
In March, a scrawny cry from outside
Seemed like a sound in his mind.

He knew that he heard it,
A bird’s cry, at daylight or before,
In the early March wind.

The sun was rising at six,
No longer a battered panache above snow...
It would have been outside.

It was not from the vast ventriloquism
Of sleep’s faded papier-m^ach’e...
The sun was coming from the outside.

That scrawny cry&mdasp;It was
A chorister whose c preceded the choir.
It was part of the colossal sun,

Surrounded by its choral rings,
Still far away. It was like
A new knowledge of reality.



Wallace Stevens's other poems:
  1. Continual Conversation with a Silent Man
  2. Looking across the Fields and Watching the Birds Fly
  3. Disillusionment of Ten O’clock
  4. Nomad Exquisite
  5. The Plot against the Giant


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