We Are Asleep With Compasses

We Are Asleep With Compasses In Our Hands.

Any Work Of Art Makes One Very Simple Demand On Anyone Who Genuinely Wants To Get In Touch With It. And That Is To Stop. You've Got To Stop What You're Doing, What You're Thinking, And What You're Expecting And Just Be There For The Poem For However Long It Takes.

In The Time That I Have Been Acquainted With This Region I Have Become Increasingly Aware Of It As A Testament Of Water, The Origin And Guide Of Its Contours And Gradients And Of All The Lives - The Plants And Small Creatures, And The Culture - That Evolved Here. That Was Always Here To Be Seen, Of Course, And The Recognition Has Forced Itself, In One Form Or Other, Upon People In Every Part Of The World Who Have Been Directly Involved With The Growing Of Living Things. The Gardener Who Ignores It Is Soon Left With No Garden.

This Is What I Have Heard At Last The Wind In December Lashing The Old Trees With Rain Unseen Rain Racing Along The Tiles Under The Moon Wind Rising And Falling Wind With Many Clouds Trees In The Night Wind.

The Moment We Turn Over The Soil We Start Poisoning It And We Go On Poisoning It All The Way Through... And There's Probably Not A River In The United States That Doesn't Have Pesticide Poisoning In It. The Fish Are Dying. The Seas Are Getting Polluted. All Of These Things Are Happening. The Rain Forests Are Going. That's What The Context Is.