VIII
The vivid, florid, turgid sky,
The drenching thunder rolling by,
The morning deluged still by night,
The clouds tumultuously bright
And the feeling heavy in cold chords
Struggling toward impassioned choirs,
Crying among the clouds, enraged
By gold antagonists in air--
I know my lazy, leaden twang
Is like the reason in a storm;
And yet it brings the storm to bear.
I twang it out and leave it there.
---
Wallace Stevens
from The Man with the Blue Guitar, 1937
from The Man with the Blue Guitar, 1937
[Poem is in the public domain in Canada]
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