Jan. 13th, 2017

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Richard Wilbur sure liked to bait me while serving bravely in WW2. "First Snow in Alsace," italics mine:

The snow came down last night like moths
Burned on the moon
; it fell till dawn,
Covered the town with simple cloths.

Absolute snow lies rumpled on
What shellbursts scattered and deranged,
Entangled railings, crevassed lawn.

As if it did not know they'd changed,
Snow smoothly clasps the roofs of homes
Fear-gutted, trustless and estranged.

The ration stacks are milky domes;
Across the ammunition pile
The snow has climbed in sparkling combs.

You think: beyond the town a mile
Or two, this snowfall fills the eyes
Of soldiers dead a little while.

Persons and persons in disguise,
Walking the new air white and fine,
Trade glances quick with shared surprise.

At children's windows, heaped, benign,
As always, winter shines the most,
And frost makes marvelous designs.

The night guard coming from his post,
Ten first-snows back in thought, walks slow
And warms him with a boyish boast:

He was the first to see the snow.



(What are "persons in disguise"? Snow-covered statues? Ghosts of the just-mentioned dead, what with the air-walking? Those snowy-eyed dead, staring up at the living who stare back down (renders the shared "walking" 90 degrees odd, though)? Soldiers in general, seen as human people in killbots' clothing? He lost me there.)


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