The World and the Child
This is the child. He has not yet put out leaves.
His bare skin tastes the air; his naked eyes
know nothing but strange shapes. Nothing is named;
nothing is ago, nothing not yet. Death is that which dies,
and goes no farther; for the mere dead he grieves,
and grief has yet no meaning and no size.
Where the wild harebell grows to a blue cave
and the climbing ant is a monster of green light
and the child clings to his grassblade. The mountain range
lies like a pillow for his head at night,
the moon swings from this ceiling. He is a wave
that timeless moves through time, imperishably bright.
Yet what is it that moves? What is the unresting hunger
that shapes the soft-fleshed face, makes the bones harden?
Rebel-rebel, it cries. Never be satisfied.
Do not weaken for their grief; do not give in or pardon.
Only through this pain, this black desire, this anger,
Shall you at last return to your lost garden.
Out of himself like a thread the child spins pain
and makes a net to catch the unknown world.
Words gather there heavy as fish, and tears,
and tales of love and the polar cold.
Now, says the child, I shall never be young again.
The shadow of my net has darkened the sea’s gold.
Yet what is it that draws the net and throws?
Forget to be young, it says: forget to be afraid.
No net is strong enough to hold the world,
Nor man of such a sinew ever was made.
What is the world? That secret no man knows;
Yet look, beyond the sundazzle, the blinding blade –
Was not that the white waterfall from some vast side?
Nets gave been breached and men have died in vain.
No net is strong enough to hold the world.
Yet gather in your bleeding hands your net again –
Not till Leviathan’s beached shall you be satisfied.
Judith Wright
whats this poem about? invited reading/alternative reading, discourses, poetic techniques, social issues, subject matter, imagery, symbolism, silencing and marginalising, mood...etc...please!
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