The poem describes a black swan seen on a green lake near jonquil lawns. The black swan brings wonder and chaos as it rides through the water. A blond child watches the swan in fascination, drawn to its mystery. Though the swan's arched neck resembles a question mark, it refuses to provide answers, existing as an enigma like love or pain. The swan is able to transform time's damage through subtle movements. It knows how to break expectations and move across lives. The child remains forever captivated by the black swan.
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The Black Swan
The poem describes a black swan seen on a green lake near jonquil lawns. The black swan brings wonder and chaos as it rides through the water. A blond child watches the swan in fascination, drawn to its mystery. Though the swan's arched neck resembles a question mark, it refuses to provide answers, existing as an enigma like love or pain. The swan is able to transform time's damage through subtle movements. It knows how to break expectations and move across lives. The child remains forever captivated by the black swan.
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“The Black Swan”
Black on flat water past the jonquil lawns
Riding, the black swan draws A private chaos warbling in its wake, Assuming, like a fourth dimension, splendor That calls the child with white ideas of swans Nearer to that green lake Where every paradox means wonder.
Though the black swan's arched neck is like
A question-mark on the lake, The swan outlaws all possible questioning: A thing in itself, like love, like submarine Disaster, or the first sound when we wake; And the swan-song it sings Is the huge silence of the swan.
Illusion: the black swan knows how to break
Through expectation, beak Aimed now at its own breast, now at its image, And move across our lives, if the lake is life, And by the gentlest turning of its neck Transform, in time, time’s damage; To less than a black plume, time’s grief.
Enchanter: the black swan has learned to enter
Sorrow’s lost secret center Where, like a maypole separate tragedies Are wound about a tower of ribbons, and where The central hollowness is that pure winter That does not change but is Always brilliant ice and air.
Always the black swan moves on the lake; always
The blond child stands to gaze As the tall emblem pivots and rides out To the opposite side, always. The child upon The bank, hands full of difficult marvels, stays Forever to cry aloud In anguish: I love the black swan.
“The Black Swan” from The First Nine (1983)
Black on flat water past the jonquil lawns
Riding, the black swan draws A private chaos warbling in its wake, Assuming, like a fourth dimension, splendor That calls the child with white ideas of swans Nearer to that green lake Where every paradox means wonder.
Although the black neck arches not unlike
A question mark on the lake, The swan outlaws all easy questioning: A thing in itself, equivocal, foreknown, Like pain, or women singing as we wake; And the swan song it sings Is the huge silence of the swan. Illusion: the black swan knows how to break Through expectation, beak Aimed now at its own breast, now at its image, And move across our lives, if the lake is life, And by the gentlest turning of its neck Transform, in time, time’s damage; To less than a black plume, time’s grief.
Enchanter: the black swan has learned to enter
Sorrow’s lost secret center Where, like a May fête, separate tragedies Are wound in ribbons round the pole to share A hollowness, a marrow of pure winter That does not change but is Always brilliant ice and air.
Always the black swan moves on the lake. Always
The moment comes to gaze As the tall emblem pivots and rides out To the opposite side, always. The blond child on The bank, hands full of difficult marvels, stays Now in bliss, now in doubt. His lips move: I love the black swan.