Written by
Edgar Bowers |
Every month or so, Sundays, we walked the line,
The limit and the boundary.
Past the sweet gum
Superb above the cabin, along the wall—
Stones gathered from the level field nearby
When first we cleared it.
(Angry bumblebees
Stung the two mules.
They kicked.
Thirteen, I ran.
)
And then the field: thread-leaf maple, deciduous
Magnolia, hybrid broom, and, further down,
In light shade, one Franklinia Alatamaha
In solstice bloom, all white, most graciously.
On the sunnier slope, the wild plums that my mother
Later would make preserves of, to give to friends
Or sell, in autumn, with the foxgrape, quince,
Elderberry, and muscadine.
Around
The granite overhang, moist den of foxes;
Gradually up a long hill, high in pine,
Park-like, years of dry needles on the ground,
And dogwood, slopes the settlers terraced; pine
We cut at Christmas, berries, hollies, anise,
And cones for sale in Mister Haymore’s yard
In town, below the Courthouse Square.
James Haymore,
One of the two good teachers at Boys’ High,
Ironic and demanding, chemistry;
Mary Lou Culver taught us English: essays,
Plot summaries, outlines, meters, kinds of clauses
(Noun, adjective, and adverb, five at a time),
Written each day and then revised, and she
Up half the night to read them once again
Through her pince-nez, under a single lamp.
Across the road, on a steeper hill, the settlers
Set a house, unpainted, the porch fallen in,
The road a red clay strip without a bridge,
A shallow stream that liked to overflow.
Oliver Brand’s mules pulled our station wagon
Out of the gluey mire, earth’s rust.
Then, here
And there, back from the road, the specimen
Shrubs and small trees my father planted, some
Taller than we were, some in bloom, some berried,
And some we still brought water to.
We always
Paused at the weed-filled hole beside the beech
That, one year, brought forth beech nuts by the thousands,
A hole still reminiscent of the man
Chewing tobacco in among his whiskers
My father happened on, who, discovered, told
Of dreaming he should dig there for the gold
And promised to give half of what he found.
During the wars with Germany and Japan,
Descendents of the settlers, of Oliver Brand
And of that man built Flying Fortresses
For Lockheed, in Atlanta; now they build
Brick mansions in the woods they left, with lawns
To paved and lighted streets, azaleas, camellias
Blooming among the pines and tulip trees—
Mercedes Benz and Cadillac Republicans.
There was another stream further along
Divided through a marsh, lined by the fence
We stretched to posts with Mister Garner’s help
The time he needed cash for his son’s bail
And offered all his place.
A noble spring
Under the oak root cooled his milk and butter.
He called me “honey,” working with us there
(My father bought three acres as a gift),
His wife pale, hair a country orange, voice
Uncanny, like a ghost’s, through the open door
Behind her, chickens scratching on the floor.
Barred Rocks, our chickens; one, a rooster, splendid
Sliver and grey, red comb and long sharp spurs,
Once chased Aunt Jennie as far as the daphne bed
The two big king snakes were familiars of.
My father’s dog would challenge him sometimes
To laughter and applause.
Once, in Stone Mountain,
Travelers, stopped for gas, drove off with Smokey;
Angrily, grievingly, leaving his work, my father
Traced the car and found them way far south,
Had them arrested and, bringing Smokey home,
Was proud as Sherlock Holmes, and happier.
Above the spring, my sister’s cats, black Amy,
Grey Junior, down to meet us.
The rose trees,
Domestic, Asiatic, my father’s favorites.
The bridge, marauding dragonflies, the bullfrog,
Camellias cracked and blackened by the freeze,
Bay tree, mimosa, mountain laurel, apple,
Monkey pine twenty feet high, banana shrub,
The owls’ tall pine curved like a flattened S.
The pump house Mort and I built block by block,
Smooth concrete floor, roof pale aluminum
Half-covered by a clematis, the pump
Thirty feet down the mountain’s granite foot.
Mort was the hired man sent to us by Fortune,
Childlike enough to lead us.
He brought home,
Although he could not even drive a tractor,
Cheated, a worthless car, which we returned.
When, at the trial to garnishee his wages,
Frank Guess, the judge, Grandmother’s longtime neighbor,
Whose children my mother taught in Cradle Roll,
Heard Mort’s examination, he broke in
As if in disbelief on the bank’s attorneys:
“Gentlemen, must we continue this charade?”
Finally, past the compost heap, the garden,
Tomatoes and sweet corn for succotash,
Okra for frying, Kentucky Wonders, limas,
Cucumbers, squashes, leeks heaped round with soil,
Lavender, dill, parsley, and rosemary,
Tithonia and zinnias between the rows;
The greenhouse by the rock wall, used for cuttings
In late spring, frames to grow them strong for planting
Through winter into summer.
Early one morning
Mort called out, lying helpless by the bridge.
His ashes we let drift where the magnolia
We planted as a stem divides the path
The others lie, too young, at Silver Hill,
Except my mother.
Ninety-five, she lives
Three thousand miles away, beside the bare
Pacific, in rooms that overlook the Mission,
The Riviera, and the silver range
La Cumbre east.
Magnolia grandiflora
And one druidic live oak guard the view.
Proudly around the walls, she shows her paintings
Of twenty years ago: the great oak’s arm
Extended, Zeuslike, straight and strong, wisteria
Tangled among the branches, amaryllis
Around the base; her cat, UC, at ease
In marigolds; the weeping cherry, pink
And white arms like a blessing to the blue
Bird feeder Mort made; cabin, scarlet sweet gum
Superb when tribes migrated north and south.
Alert, still quick of speech, a little blind,
Active, ready for laughter, open to fear,
Pity, and wonder that such things may be,
Some Sundays, I think, she must walk the line,
Aunt Jennie, too, if she were still alive,
And Eleanor, whose story is untold,
Their presences like muses, prompting me
In my small study, all listening to the sea,
All of one mind, the true posterity.
|
Written by
Pythagoras |
1.
First worship the Immortal Gods, as they are established and ordained by the Law.
2.
Reverence the Oath, and next the Heroes, full of goodness and light.
3.
Honour likewise the Terrestrial Daemons by rendering them the worship lawfully due to them.
4.
Honour likewise your parents, and those most nearly related to you.
5.
Of all the rest of mankind, make him your friend who distinguishes himself by his virtue.
6.
Always give ear to his mild exhortations, and take example from his virtuous and useful actions.
7.
Avoid as much as possible hating your friend for a slight fault.
8.
Power is a near neighbour to necessity.
9.
Know that all these things are just as what I have told you; and accustom yourself to overcome and vanquish these passions:--
10.
First gluttony, sloth, sensuality, and anger.
11.
Do nothing evil, neither in the presence of others, nor privately;
12.
But above all things respect yourself.
13.
In the next place, observe justice in your actions and in your words.
14.
And do not accustom yourself to behave yourself in any thing without rule, and without reason.
15.
But always make this reflection, that it is ordained by destiny that all men shall die.
16.
And that the goods of fortune are uncertain; and that just as they may be acquired, they may likewise be lost.
17.
Concerning all the calamities that men suffer by divine fortune,
18.
Support your lot with patience, it is what it may be, and never complain at it.
19.
But endeavour what you can to remedy it.
20.
And consider that fate does not send the greatest portion of these misfortunes to good men.
21.
There are many sorts of reasonings among men, good and bad;
22.
Do not admire them too easily, nor reject them.
23.
But if falsehoods are advanced, hear them with mildness, and arm yourself with patience.
24.
Observe well, on every occasion, what I am going to tell you:--
25.
Do not let any man either by his words, or by his deeds, ever seduce you.
26.
Nor lure you to say or to do what is not profitable for yourself.
27.
Consult and deliberate before you act, that you may not commit foolish actions.
28.
For it is the part of a miserable man to speak and to act without reflection.
29.
But do the thing which will not afflict you afterwards, nor oblige you to repentance.
30.
Never do anything which you do not understand.
31.
But learn all you ought to know, and by that means you will lead a very pleasant life.
32.
in no way neglect the health of your body;
33.
But give it drink and meat in due measure, and also the exercise of which it needs.
34.
Now by measure I mean what will not discomfort you.
35.
Accustom yourself to a way of living that is neat and decent without luxury.
36.
Avoid all things that will occasion envy.
37.
And do not be prodigal out of season, like someone who does not know what is decent and honourable.
38.
Neither be covetous nor stingy; a due measure is excellent in these things.
39.
Only do the things that cannot hurt you, and deliberate before you do them.
40.
Never allow sleep to close your eyelids, after you went to bed,
41.
Until you have examined all your actions of the day by your reason.
42.
In what have I done wrong? What have I done? What have I omitted that I ought to have done?
43.
If in this examination you find that you have done wrong, reprove yourself severely for it;
44.
And if you have done any good, rejoice.
45.
Practise thoroughly all these things; meditate on them well; you ought to love them with all your heart.
46.
It is those that will put you in the way of divine virtue.
47.
I swear it by he who has transmitted into our souls the Sacred Quaternion, the source of nature, whose cause is eternal.
48.
But never begin to set your hand to any work, until you have first prayed the gods to accomplish what you are going to begin.
49.
When you have made this habit familiar to you,
50.
You will know the constitution of the Immortal Gods and of men.
51.
Even how far the different beings extend, and what contains and binds them together.
52.
You shall likewise know that according to Law, the nature of this universe is in all things alike,
53.
So that you shall not hope what you ought not to hope; and nothing in this world shall be hidden from you.
54.
You will likewise know, that men draw upon themselves their own misfortunes voluntarily, and of their own free choice.
55.
Unhappy they are! They neither see nor understand that their good is near them.
56.
Few know how to deliver themselves out of their misfortunes.
57.
Such is the fate that blinds humankind, and takes away his senses.
58.
Like huge cylinders they roll back and forth, and always oppressed with innumerable ills.
59.
For fatal strife, natural, pursues them everywhere, tossing them up and down; nor do they perceive it.
60.
Instead of provoking and stirring it up, they ought to avoid it by yielding.
61.
Oh! Jupiter, our Father! If you would deliver men from all the evils that oppress them,
62.
Show them of what daemon they make use.
63.
But take courage; the race of humans is divine.
64.
Sacred nature reveals to them the most hidden mysteries.
65.
If she impart to you her secrets, you will easily perform all the things which I have ordained thee.
66.
And by the healing of your soul, you wilt deliver it from all evils, from all afflictions.
67.
But you should abstain from the meats, which we have forbidden in the purifications and in the deliverance of the soul;
68.
Make a just distinction of them, and examine all things well.
69.
Leave yourself always to be guided and directed by the understanding that comes from above, and that ought to hold the reins.
70.
And when, after having deprived yourself of your mortal body, you arrived at the most pure Aither,
71.
You shall be a God, immortal, incorruptible, and Death shall have no more dominion over you.
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