AFTER THE FLOOD After the idea of the Flood hed receded, ‘A rabbit rested within swaying clover and bellflowers, saying his prayers to a rainbow spied through a spider's web. ‘Oh what precious stones sunk out of sight, what flowers suddenly stared. (On the dirty main drag it was back to business; ships went to sea, piled fon the water like a postcard, Blood flowed—at Bluebeard’, in slaughterhouses, in circuses—wher- ‘ever God's mark marred windows, Milk and blood flowed. Beavers dammed. Steam rose from coffee cups in small cafés. ‘The mansion’s windows were still streaming, mourning children within contemplating amazing scenes. ‘A door slammed, and the child whirled his arms through the town square, movements understood by weathervanes and weathercocks everywhere, beneath a tumultuous downpour. ‘Madame #% puta piano in the Alps. Mass and First Communion were given at the hundred thousand altars of the cathedral Caravans left, The Hotel Splendide was built atop a chaos of ice in the polar night. Ever since, the Moon has heard jackals whimpering in thyme-strewn deserts, and club-Footed eclogues growling in orchards. At last, in a let, blooming stand, Eucharis said: Spring Is Here. Rise, waters. —Foam, roll over the bridge and through the woods— black veils and organ strains—lightning, thunder—rise and roam. Waters and sorrows, step forward and reveal the Floods. For since they relented—what precious stones have sunk—what flow- ers have bloomed—who cares! And the Queen, the Witch who sparks her blaze in a bow! of Earth, never tells us what she knows, and what we do not most: itt page ofthe fs pasing of Maminaon in La Vigne 1972-187, Muminatone - 223CHILDHOOD 1 ‘This idol, black-eyed and blonde-topped, without parents or playground, and nobler than Fables, whether Aztec or Flemish: his domain of insolent blues and greens borders beaches named by shipless waves, names fero- ciously Greek, Slav, Celt. ‘At the edge of the forest—dream flowers chime, brighten to burst- ing—an orange-lipped girl, cross-legged in a flood of light soaking the fields, her nakedness shaded, crossed, and clothed by rainbows, blossoms, sea. Ladies promenading on terraces by the sea; toddlers and giants, gor- sgeous black women garbed in gray moss-green, jewels set just so into the rich ground of the groves, the unfrozen gardens—young mothers and elder sisters faces flushed with pilgrimage, sultanas, princesses pacing in lordly gowns, girls from abroad, and sweetly melancholy souls, ‘What a bore, to say “dearest body” and “dearest heart.” 0 "There: the litle dead girl, behind the rosebushes. —The deed young ‘mother comes down the steps. The cousin’ carriage creaks on the sand. — ‘The little brother—(off in Indiaf) in a feld of carnations at sunset. —Old ‘men buried upright ina rampart of wallflowers. ‘A swarm of golden leaves surrounds the general’s house. We're in the south. You follow the red road to reach the empty inn. The chiteau is for sale; its shutters have fallen off, —The priest must have fled with the key to the church. —All around the park, groundskeepers’ cabins stand empty... The fences are so high you only see the tips of trees rustling above them. But there's nothing inside to see. “Meadows reach across to roosterless villages and blacksmithless towns. 24» Rimboad CompleteFloodgates are wide open. O the calvaries and windmills in the wilder- ness, the islands and millstones. “Magic flowers buzzed, Hillsides cradled him. Beasts of fabulous ele- gance made rounds. Clouds gathered on a rising sea, filled by an eternity of hot tears. m1 in these woods, its song stops you, makes you blush, ‘And here's clock that will not chime. ‘And here's a pit with a nest of white beasts ‘And here's a cathedral that sinks, and a lake that rises. ‘And here's a litte carriage abandoned in a thicket, or that rolls be- ribboned down the road. ‘And here's a troupe of little actors in costume, spied on the edge of the woods. ‘And when you're hungry and thirsty, here's someone to chase you away. w Pm the saint praying on a balcony—like peaceful beasts grazing along the Sea of Palestine. fm the scholar ina plain reading chair. Branches and rain beat the li- brary windows Tm the pedestrian on the high road through the stunted woods; the sound of floodgates drowns out my footsteps. I stare at the melancholy wash of another golden sunset. Or I could be the child abandoned on a high seas jetty, 2 bumpkin along a lane that butts the sky ‘The path is harsh. The hillocks are weed. The air is stil, How far we are from birds and streams. The end of the world must be just ahead. 1872-1874 Muminatons «225v So rent me a tomb whose cinderblocks peek through their whitewash— deep below ground. 1 rest my elbows on the table, the lamp brightly illuminates news- papers and boring books Pm dumb enough to reread, Far far above my subterranean sitting room, houses settle and spread, fog gathers, Mud is red or black. Monstrous city, endless nigh! "Nearer are the sewers. At my flanks, the width of the world. Or per- haps azure abysses, pits of fire, Perhaps moons and comets collide at these depths, seas and stories In these bitter hours, I imagine spheres of sapphire and steel. I have mastered silence. So what’ that vent doing, up there, illuminating a cor- ner of my ceiin 226 - Rimbaud Complete