Eternal Dust Poem by Robert Charles Howard
Eternal Dust
Cradling a handful of Illinois dust,
dry residue of sycamore, deer
and ancient Mississippians,
I splay my fingers like an eagle's claw -
releasing it to the fickle breezes.
A sudden gust of wind
swirls up an ocher cloud -
a cyclonic dervish of sand and clay.
My hand, upraised for a shield
ever so briefly vanishes -
veiled by the impatient dust.
May, 2008
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 3:42:26 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I hope you have music written as well. Robert, this is outstanding. For me it is a metaphor of regret. Whilst ‘returning it to the waiting soil’ suggests burial (denial even?) the overall feeling of the poem is one of assuredness. The contrast between the two stanzas could not be starker. The line ‘swirling up an ocher cloud’ is emphatically joyous and gives the feeling of strength borne out of adversity. The language is, as ever, one of such beauty and is a poem that will stay with me a long time.