The Fish (date unknown, 754KB, 1:12 min)
The Fish
wade
through black jade.
Of the crow-blue mussel-shells, one keeps
adjusting the ash-heaps;
opening and shutting itself like
an
injured fan.
The barnacles which
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encrust the side
of the wave, cannot hide
there for the submerged shafts of the
sun,
split like spun
glass, move themselves with spotlight swiftness
into the crevices—
in and out, illuminating
the
turquoise sea
of bodies. The water drives a wedge
of iron through the iron edge
of the cliff; whereupon the stars,
pink
rice-grains, ink-
bespattered jelly-fish, crabs like green
lilies, and submarine
toadstools, slide each on the other.
All
external
marks of abuse are present on this
defiant edifice—
all the physical features of
ac-
cident—lack
of cornice, dynamite grooves, burns, and
hatchet strokes, these things stand
out on it; the chasm-side is
dead.
Repeated
evidence has proved that it can live
on what cannot revive
its youth. The sea grows old in it.
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Don’t know who made the film or wrote
the music.
I can scarcely make out the images
on this tiny and brutally compressed file.
Nonetheless I find it - battered, uncertain,
almost found object like, with that incredible
certainty of tone bestriding it, deeply affecting.
Further reading & links on Marianne Moore.
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