The man who cried against the wind
flew up through hurricanes of doubt
one season when the winter's rule
ran sternly; his arms were bright,
and bright his eye and gold his crown
and green right to the heart of him;
he cried against the winds at night,
he wandered back a million miles
through peril and delight, still hungering
athough his cheek was fat,
although his hands had killed for meat;
the senses, unruly, wandering,
made him cry grimly in the night,
calling the ghostly ones back
through thorn and over sand,
under sun and under moon,
to cry against the wind.
1985
Since I can't add to what Brian and Sandra said, i'm just going to say, 'What Sandra said. And what Brian said'. Wonderful Will as ever... it is always fab to see you posting. t x
Powerfully composed and superbly stated. Another strong-WILLed piece of brilliant penmanship!
Beautiful write. May that man who cried always find solace, my eloquent friend. You have my applause. Warm regards, Sandra
This is all of us who are aware enough to see and be what we are.... to read your work is to touch at times the essence of what it is to be human. Very few poets take me where your writing does Will. You have an eye that sees great detail with unusually fine sensitivity and clarity, and the voice to carry it to others, directly or by clever allusion. Brilliant again. I hope you're keeping weel. Best to you. jim
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
At once achingly real and surreal and altogether beautiful...