The Thrush Returns From The Waste And Void Poem by Allen Grossman

The Thrush Returns From The Waste And Void

O kid! I didn't understand. But now I get it.
Forget their words! Look around for yourself.

At a great distance, we heard something. First
you said, "Do you hear that?" And I DID hear it.

Then we both thought the same thought:
The thrush has returned from the waste and void.


I didn't understand. But then, I did understand.
Listen to the thrush returned from the waste:

"Every death destroys the final philosopher.
In a numbered year, among numberless crossings

of light and shadow, at dawn, the shadows are
in peril, from the bright stalker - the sun."


Forget his sweet words. If there is to be any
truthful poem, then it will not be understandable

for the very reason that it is true.
"But why must that be so. . . ?"

Because there MAY be something in the world
that is like joy, as Dante says there is,


BUT there is nothing in the world that is like pain.
For that reason, the true poem is not known

and noon is the end of the trueing of song.
As the sun sets, more truth is seen.

The final philosopher writes ‘subject'. THEN ‘object'.
As the shadows fall, so understanding comes.

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