Marianne Moore

Black Earth

Openly, yes,
        With the naturalness
        Of the hippopotamus or the alligator
When it climbs out on the bank to experience the
 
Sun, I do these
Things which I do, which please
        No one but myself.  Now I breathe and now I am sub—
        Merged; the blemishes stand up and shout when the object
 
In view was a
Renaissance; shall I say
        The contrary?  The sediment of the river which
        Encrusts my joints, makes me very gray but I am used
 
To it, it may
Remain there; do away
        With it and I am myself done away with, for the
        Patina of circumstance can but enrich what was
 
There to begin
With.  This elephant skin
        Which I inhabit, fibered over like the shell of
        The coco—nut, this piece of black glass through which no light
 
Can filter—cut
Into checkers by rut
        Upon rut of unpreventable experience—
        It is a manual for the peanut—tongued and the
 
Hairy toed.  Black
But beautiful, my back
        Is full of the history of power.  Of power?  What
        Is powerful and what is not?  My soul shall never
 
Be cut into
By a wooden spear; through—
        Out childhood to the present time, the unity of
        Life and death has been expressed by the circumference
 
Described by my
Trunk; nevertheless, I
        Perceive feats of strength to be inexplicable after
        All; and I am on my guard; external poise, it
 
Has its centre
Well nurtured—we know
        Where—in pride, but spiritual poise, it has its centre where?
        My ears are sensitized to more than the sound of
 
The wind.  I see
And I hear, unlike the
        Wandlike body of which one hears so much, which was made
        To see and not to see; to hear and not to hear,
 
That tree trunk without  
Roots, accustomed to shout
        Its own thoughts to itself like a shell, maintained intact  
        By who knows what strange pressure of the  atmosphere; that  
 
Spiritual  
Brother to the coral
        Plant, absorbed into which, the equable sapphire light
        Becomes a nebulous green.  The I of each is to
 
The I of each,
A kind of fretful speech
        Which sets a limit on itself; the elephant is?
        Black earth preceded by a tendril?  It is to that
 
Phenomenon
The above formation,  
        Translucent like the atmosphere—a cortex merely—
        That on which darts cannot strike decisively the first
 
Time, a substance
Needful as an instance
        Of the indestructibility of matter; it  
        Has looked at the electricity and at the earth—
 
Quake and is still
Here; the name means thick.  Will
        Depth be depth, thick skin be thick, to one who can see no
        Beautiful element of unreason under it?
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