Field in Spring
By Susan Stewart
Your eye moving
left to right across
the plowed lines
looking to touch down
on the first
shoots coming up
like a frieze
from the dark where
pale roots
and wood-lice gorge
on mold.
Red haze atop
the far trees.
A two dot, then
a ten dot
ladybug. Within
the wind, a per-
pendicular breeze.
Hold a mirror,
horizontal,
to the rain. Now
the blurred repetition
of ruled lines, the faint
green, quickening,
the doubled tears.
Wake up.
The wind is not for seeing,
neither is the first
song, soon half-
way gone,
and the figures,
the figures are not waiting.
To see what is
in motion you must move.
About This Poem
“This poem is from a series of studies of the same field in sequential seasons. Is there anyone in the northern hemisphere who isn’t trying, in these days, to read the signs of spring?”— Susan Stewart
Susan Stewart is the author of numerous books of poems, including Red Rover (University of Chicago Press, 2008). She is a professor of English at Princeton University.
2 comments:
Beautiful. The poetry, too.
Very nice! And the poem, too! HAHAHA
Peace <3
Jay
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