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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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0% found this document useful (0 votes)
142 views2 pages

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.
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as TXT, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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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.

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