Two poems that have to do with the Pacific--
well, among other things.
This is one, and it has to do with things
that were happening not only in the Pacific,
but elsewhere at the same time.
History is usually written as though it
happened in a linear way, only one thing at a time.
And as we know that, we can't blame the historians.
You can only use the language in a linear way but--
because one word does come after another.
But everything's happening at once, as you know.
We're here all here together.
"Chord."
"While Keats wrote, they were cutting down
the sandalwood forests.
While he listened to the nightingale,
they heard their own axes echoing through the forests.
While he sat in the walled garden
on the hill outside the city, they thought of their gardens
dying far away on the mountain.
While the sound of the words clawed at him,
they thought of their wives.
While the tip of his pen traveled,
the iron they had coveted was hateful to them.
While he thought of the Grecian woods,
they bled under red flowers.
While he dreamed of wine, the trees
were falling from the trees.
While he felt his heart, they were hungry,
and their faith was sick.
While the song broke over him, they were in a secret place,
and they were cutting it forever.
While he coughed, they carried the trunks to the hole
in the forest the size of a foreign ship.
While he groaned on the voyage to Italy,
they fell on the trails and were broken.
When he laid with the odes behind him,
the wood was sold for cannons.
When he lay watching the window, they came home and lay down,
and an age arrived when everything was
explained in another language."