Giant Snail
The rain has stopped.
The waterfall will roar like that all
night.
I have come out to take a walk and feed.
My body--foot,
that is--is wet and cold and covered with sharp gravel.
It is
white, the size of a dinner plate.
I have set myself a goal, a
certain rock, but it may well be dawn before I get there.
Although I move ghostlike and my floating edges barely graze
the ground, I am heavy, heavy, heavy.
My white muscles are
already tired.
I give the impression of mysterious ease, but it is
only with the greatest effort of my will that I can rise above the
smallest stones and sticks.
And I must not let myself be dis-
tracted by those rough spears of grass.
Don't touch them.
Draw
back.
Withdrawal is always best.
The rain has stopped.
The waterfall makes such a noise! (And
what if I fall over it?) The mountains of black rock give off such
clouds of steam! Shiny streamers are hanging down their sides.
When this occurs, we have a saying that the Snail Gods have
come down in haste.
I could never descend such steep escarp-
ments, much less dream of climbing them.
That toad was too big, too, like me.
His eyes beseeched my
love.
Our proportions horrify our neighbors.
Rest a minute; relax.
Flattened to the ground, my body is like
a pallid, decomposing leaf.
What's that tapping on my shell?
Nothing.
Let's go on.
My sides move in rhythmic waves, just off the ground, from
front to back, the wake of a ship, wax-white water, or a slowly
melting floe.
I am cold, cold, cold as ice.
My blind, white bull's
head was a Cretan scare-head; degenerate, my four horns that
can't attack.
The sides of my mouth are now my hands.
They
press the earth and suck it hard.
Ah, but I know my shell is
beautiful, and high, and glazed, and shining.
I know it well,
although I have not seen it.
Its curled white lip is of the finest
enamel.
Inside, it is as smooth as silk, and I, I fill it to perfection.
My wide wake shines, now it is growing dark.
I leave a lovely
opalescent ribbon: I know this.
But O! I am too big.
I feel it.
Pity me.
If and when I reach the rock, I shall go into a certain crack
there for the night.
The waterfall below will vibrate through
my shell and body all night long.
In that steady pulsing I can
rest.
All night I shall be like a sleeping ear.
Poem by
Elizabeth Bishop
Biography |
Poems
| Best Poems | Short Poems
| Quotes
|
Email Poem |
More Poems by Elizabeth Bishop
Comments, Analysis, and Meaning on Giant Snail
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem Giant Snail here.
Commenting turned off, sorry.