Lines for Winter
By Mark Strand
For Ros Krauss
Tell yourself
as it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that you will go on walking, hearing
the same tune no matter where
you find yourself-
inside the dome of dark
or under the cracking white
of the moon's gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonighte as it gets cold
tell yourslf
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going. And you will be able
for once to lie down under the small fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back
And you find yourself
where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
in that final flowing of cold through your links
that you love what you are.
This might be an odd poem for Spring, but I am in Korea and in Daejeon to be exact surrounded by mountains. Sometimes, it is warm but like today it was cold, foggy and the gray seem ready to fall from the sky. When Spring came this year, it was so cold that I layered everything I had in an effort to keep warm and walked to the university where I work in an effort to keep warm. My winter jacket warm in Northern California is almost useless here.
I have two classes that I teach, one in the morning and another in the evening. I walk to both of them and back to my small apartment and I hear the same tune of my steps on the pavement, the cars and trucks rushing past often running the red traffic lights if they are working and I running to the other side of the street. My knees play a game of pain and hurt as they move against the cold, the damp of rain that falls and the college students who crowd around the bus stops getting off the buses or waiting to get on one.
I look up at the mountains today, covered with new trees for the Korean war of Mid Twentieth Century burnt down all of the old trees and families along with other people planted all of the di
fferent trees now growing everywhere. The trees are topped with fog. Music plays from the speakers from the university radio station and messages that I cannot understand play constantly. My backpack of ESL books shift on my back. I plod on the pavement but there are no stars tonight because it is not winter and the light of the day stays longer.
In the final flowing of cold that I feel when I am on the homestretch of road, along the golf course, past the Samsung Insurance Company, buses roaring past, creates a feeling of satisfaction. I know I love where I am and who I am. Some people shout hello and I shout back greetings from Samsung as I walk past and head to my apartment. Soon, it will be summer and the monsoon will begin.
By Mark Strand
For Ros Krauss
Tell yourself
as it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that you will go on walking, hearing
the same tune no matter where
you find yourself-
inside the dome of dark
or under the cracking white
of the moon's gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonighte as it gets cold
tell yourslf
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going. And you will be able
for once to lie down under the small fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back
And you find yourself
where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
in that final flowing of cold through your links
that you love what you are.
This might be an odd poem for Spring, but I am in Korea and in Daejeon to be exact surrounded by mountains. Sometimes, it is warm but like today it was cold, foggy and the gray seem ready to fall from the sky. When Spring came this year, it was so cold that I layered everything I had in an effort to keep warm and walked to the university where I work in an effort to keep warm. My winter jacket warm in Northern California is almost useless here.
I have two classes that I teach, one in the morning and another in the evening. I walk to both of them and back to my small apartment and I hear the same tune of my steps on the pavement, the cars and trucks rushing past often running the red traffic lights if they are working and I running to the other side of the street. My knees play a game of pain and hurt as they move against the cold, the damp of rain that falls and the college students who crowd around the bus stops getting off the buses or waiting to get on one.
I look up at the mountains today, covered with new trees for the Korean war of Mid Twentieth Century burnt down all of the old trees and families along with other people planted all of the di
fferent trees now growing everywhere. The trees are topped with fog. Music plays from the speakers from the university radio station and messages that I cannot understand play constantly. My backpack of ESL books shift on my back. I plod on the pavement but there are no stars tonight because it is not winter and the light of the day stays longer.In the final flowing of cold that I feel when I am on the homestretch of road, along the golf course, past the Samsung Insurance Company, buses roaring past, creates a feeling of satisfaction. I know I love where I am and who I am. Some people shout hello and I shout back greetings from Samsung as I walk past and head to my apartment. Soon, it will be summer and the monsoon will begin.
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