PoetryNovember 2025

from The Voronezh Notebooks

Plunged into the lions’ den and fortress,
Immersing deeper, further, lower,
Below these sounds, their leavened downpour—
More potent than the lion, than the Books of Moses.
Closer, closer, your call is nearing, close—
Before the birth of the commandments,
Before beginnings—a strand of Oceania pearls,
Meek baskets of Tahitian women.
You, continent of song that punishes and cleanses,
By valleys of this thick and sturdy voice, approach!
These well-born daughters’s sweet-savage faces,
Aren’t worth your little finger, matriarch.
My time to go has yet to come:
I too accompanied the universe’s rapture,
The same way that the organ’s hum
Accompanies the woman’s song in sotto voce.

February 12, 1937

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