Once again, perhaps I've overreacted
to what a professor of mine pointed out to me long ago.
Pointed out the passage in Cocteau
where he indicates calmly that all poets are liars.
I exult in the truth of this next poem.
It's full of sound advice, like a package
from up here about how to plow the ground
and how to plant your crop.
It could be read in a tone of voice
that I can't quite manage.
I know it's not my own.
I hope it's not my own, in the tone of an overbearing lecturer
who knows more about a subject than you will ever know,
and as a matter of fact, a poem that
implies that it's truly more of concealing information
from you.
That may be vital.
That's an extended metaphor for the human condition,
as I hope this poem implies.
It's called, "Staying Alive."
"Staying alive in the wood is a matter of calming down at first
and deciding whether to wait for rescue, trusting to others,
or simply to start walking and walking in one direction
till you come out or something happens to stop you.
By far the safer choice is to settle down
where you are and try to make a living off the land,
camping near water, away from shadows.
Eat no white berries.
Spit out all bitterness.
Shooting at anything means hiking further and further
everyday to hunt survivors.
It may be best to learn what you have to learn without a gun,
not killing but watching birds and animals go
in and out of shelter at will.
Following their example, build for a whole season.
Facing across the wind in your lean-to, you may feel wilder,
but nothing, not even you, will have to stay in hiding.
If you have no matches, a stick and a fire-bow
will keep you warmer or the crystal of your watch filled
with water held up to the sun.
It will do the same in time.
In case of snow drifting toward winter,
don't try to stay awake through the night, afraid of freezing.
The bottom of your mind knows all about zero.
It will turn you over and shake you till you waken.
If you have trouble sleeping even in the best of weather,
jumping to follow with eyes strained
to their corners, the unidentifiable noises
of the night and feeling bears and packs of wolves nuzzling
your elbow, remember the trappers
who treated them indifferently places and were left alone.
If you hurt yourself, no one will comfort you or take
your temperature, so stumbling, waiting, and climbing
are as dangerous as flying.
But if you decide at last, you must break through
in spite of all danger, think of yourself by time and not
by distance, counting wherever you're
going by how long it takes you.
No other measure will bring you safe to nightfall.
Follow no streams.
They run under the ground or fall into wilder country.
Remember the stars and moss when your mind runs into circles.
If it should rain or the fog should roll the horizon
in around you, hold still for hours, or days if you must,
or weeks, for seeing is believing in the wilderness.
And if you find a pathway, wheel-rut, or fence-wire,
retrace it left or right.
Someone knew where he was going once upon a time,
and you can follow, hopefully, somewhere, just in case.
There may even come on some uncanny evening
a time when you're warm and dry, well-fed, not thirsty,
uninjured, without fear, when nothing either good or bad,
is happening.
This is called staying alive.
It's temporary.
What occurs after is doubtful.
You must always be ready for some things that
come bursting through the far edge of a clearing,
running towards you, grinning from ear to ear and hoarse
with welcome, or something crossing and hovering overhead
as light as air like a break in the sky,
wondering what you are.
Here you are face to face with the problem of recognition.
Having no time to make smoke, too much to say,
you should have a mirror with a tiny hole
in the back for better aiming, for reflecting
whatever disaster you can think of to show the way you suffer.
These body signals have universal meaning.
If you are lying flat on your back
with arms outstretched behind you,
you say you require emergency treatment.
If you are standing erect and holding arms horizontal,
you mean you are not ready.
If you hold them over your head, you want to be picked up.
Three of anything is a sign of distress.
Afterward, if you see no ropes, no ladders, no maps or messages
falling, no searchlights or trails blazing,
then chances are you should be prepared To Burrow deep
for a deep winter.