ceased to exist — that you had been blown
out like a candle. I thought you had
died and that someone had erected a
statue to you — that you had become a
thing of stone and iron.
I have just found out that you have
come out of the sea and home from a journey.
By the shore of the sea there are bushes
and I have seen you crawling beneath
bushes to look at a goddess who walks by
the seashore in silence.
She wears heavy gold wristlets and in
her hair is a chain of finely wrought silver.
BROTHER
GOOD BROTHER, walking up and
down, it is my feet you hear running in the shadows by the trees.
You, good brother, are standing by a
pig pen at the edge of a field. You are
walking in a road behind a threshing
engine. You are standing in a dusty place
at the mouth of a mine.
Good brother, walking up and down,
it is my voice you hear calling to you out of a city.
There is a wild wind.
There is a snow storm whirls about your head.
There is a soft wind that blows down the
channel of a river.
There is a dawn has come and you, my
brother, are the father of many lovers.
You have gone to walk in a dawn.
THE LAME ONE
AT NIGHT when there are no lights
my city is a man who arises from a
bed to stare into darkness.
In the daytime my city is the son of a
dreamer. He has become the companion
of thieves and prostitutes. He has denied his father.
My city is a thin old man who lives in
a rooming house in a dirty street. He
wears false teeth that have become loose
and make a sharp clicking noise when he
eats. He cannot find himself a woman
and indulges in self abuse. He picks
cigar ends out of the gutter.
My city lives in the roofs of houses, in
the eaves. A woman came to my city
and he threw her far down out of the
eaves on a pile of stones. Nobody knew.
Those who live in my city declare she fell.
There is an angry man whose wife is
unfaithful. He is my city. My city is in
his hair, in his eyes. When he breathes
his breath is the breath of my city.
There are many cities standing in
rows. There are cities that sleep, cities
that stand in the mud of a swamp.
I have come here to my city.
I have walked with my city.
I have limped slowly forward at night with my city.
My city is very strange. It is tired and
nervous. My city has become a woman
whose mother is ill. She creeps in the
hallway of a house and listens in the
darkness at the door of a room.
I cannot tell what my city is like.
My city is a kiss from the feverish lips
of many tired people.
My city is a murmur of voices coming out of a pit.
TWO GLAD MEN
FIRST GLADMAN
MEN ARE sometimes born who are
lords of life and I am one of them.
It is true. What things have I taken
from life and will take.
You see me here standing by this fence
in a field. The morning sun is shining.
There below me, past those trees and
down that dusty road, is a town with
factory chimneys pouring forth smoke.
There have been hot dry days. The
fields are brown and the corn ripens.
Sweaty men are between me and the
town, toiling in fields, covered with dust.
In the town are houses in long rows.
Tired-eyed women are standing by kitchen
stoves. They are standing in doorways,
looking off over fields, toward me.
It is true and must not be denied. I
am one of the lords of life. My belly has
received food. It is warm.
I have been drunk with glad-eyed
women, receiving me into themselves.
I have been drunk with wine, with food,
with smells, sights, sounds.
Soft beds have received me.
Soft arms have received me.
Soft nights have sheltered my adventures.
I am neither at the beginning nor at
the end. There are no beginnings and no endings.
Hail to thee, sweet life.
Do you hear singing?
Do you smell sweet smells?
Are you erect and ready?
The long day will come unto thee and
the night. There shall be the soft pattering
of feet on the stairways of houses.
There shall be laughter and glad cries.
In my land the time of joy has not
come. The gloomy terrible men have
denied themselves to the women. They
have denied themselves to the stars, to
the night winds, to the blustering rains.
The lords of life have been asleep on
the hillsides, they have buried themselves
away under the corn leaves. They have
gone down into mines. They have disguised
themselves as workers in factories.
They have hidden in houses and shops.
The fat strong men shall come into the land.
There shall be wine drinking.
There shall be love making.
There shall be sweet smells, sweet sounds.
I am but one man but in my loins is
the seed that shall be planted in fields
and in town. The lords of life shall come
into the land.
I await, smiling and laughing.
I lean on this fence.
I look about me.
My eyes are open.
God has opened my eyes.
I am of the breed of the men who shall
be the lords over life.
I am glad in the morning.
ANSWERING VOICE OF A SECOND GLAD MAN
Who is singing?
I am singing.
Who is praying?
I am praying.
Who is walking about among people?
I am walking about among people.
Who is hearing voices?
I am hearing voices.
Who is eating ripe fruit?
I am eating ripe fruit.
Who is kissing the maiden in the shadow
of the church?
It is I. I am kissing the maiden in the
shadow of the church.
For whom are arms opened?
It is for me. Arms are opened to receive me.
Who is in the body of the man I see
walking with people, talking with people,
embracing the maidens, drinking sweet wines?
I am the man.
I am in the body of the man.
I, the singer, live in his body.
CHICAGO
TRAINS go out of the city of Chicago
and into her sister cities of the
valley but the minds of men do not go.
The minds of men do not run out over
the flat prairies.
The minds of my brothers stay in their
houses.
The fancies of men are bound with iron bands.
They sleep in a prison.
The flesh of women is no longer sweet.
Women are laid in beds.
They have not walk
ed where the wind is.
Their legs have not been caressed by
winds that blow low, leaping along,
scampering over the ground.
Women weave laces with their fingers
and open their breasts to the eyes of the
windows but they do not open their eyes
to the morning light.
CHALLENGE OF THE SEA
THE MOUNTAINS shall fall down
and the winds go in at the womb of
earth ere you shall take me in at the door
of your house. Cleanse the doorsteps of
houses. Sweeten the air by burning of
barks. I am unborn unto you. I sleep
unborn in the womb.
You who grope in strange roads may
make seas red and spread greens and
blues on the walls of your houses but my
soul remains untouched by your hands.
When your voyage of discovery is ended
I shall wriggle out from under your
fingers. I shall creep out of your sight.
I shall abide in the distance.
What I am at this moment I shall
never be again.
Let the madness of that thought creep
into your brain.
Suckle your soul at the black breast of defeat.
Accept me as your master.
You have thought me within your
grasp. You have thought to take me in
at the door of your house.
At night when you have gone to sleep
in the arms of a woman I have not slept.
When you have cried out in the joy pains
of embraces I have stood still, and my
stillness has been as the orgasms of gods.
Suppose a stone to arise and sing songs.
Suppose a tree to come out of the
ground and go in at the door of a church.
Suppose a man to walk with true reverence
where my lips and teeth bite
the land.
When the day comes I shall have escaped
out of your grasp. When the lids
of your eyes lift I shall flee. As the
intaking of the breath of a running woman
I shall disappear into distances. Only
the fluttering fingers of God shall caress
my breasts for the stirring of passions.
Until the gods arise from their slumbers
I shall sleep in the womb.
POET
TO ALFRED STEIGLITZ
THREW his weight against the
gate. Holding nothing back he
hurled himself and there was something
lovely to be seen.
With a spring and with all his nerves
drawn taut he hurled himself, blood and
bone and flesh, against the cold unyielding iron of the gate.
It did begin to yield a little. Inch by
inch the gate began to swing. He turned
a cut, a bleeding face to look at me and
joy shone from his eyes.
The gate swung wide and he walked
in and fell into the arms of death.
But there was joy in him.
In a time of little faith joy and love and
faith shone from his eyes.
AT THE WELL
IN THE evening I went to the well
to drink again. How my bones ached!
All the little nerves and muscles of my
body cried out.
I had been fighting with God in the
long level plain. I ran and ran into a hot
dry place and then God came. I fought
with him because of the self-satisfaction
I saw on his face.
Had God been substance, had he been
a true man I might have laid hold of him.
I wrestled all day with a shadow and
when afternoon came God smiled again.
Then I went to the well. A few men
and women lay on the ground. How
softly they talked! There was a negro
and a prostitute and two old men who
had been robbers.
It was very quiet and peaceful by the
well. My hot weary feet touched softly
the ground. About the well trees grew
and the grass was green. Horses grazed
under the trees.
Shall I go again into the plains to fight
the self-satisfied God? It is morning and
I am thinking now. At the well the negro,
the worn-out woman and the two old
men are waiting. Knowledge shines out
of their eyes. They stay at the well.
AN EMOTION
To E. P.
HE WALKED softly in the dust of
the road, whispering words. A
silver sky dropped down and in circled
her head. She was clad in a gold and
silver gown. —
The little bells were calling, calling.
I ran into the road, plunged into the
road. My torn feet were touched by the
golden dust of the road. My fingers tore
at the gold and silver gown that wrapped
her about. With a little whispering laugh
she passed into me. I was drawn into her
and was healed.
The little bells were calling, calling.
She came with me in at the door of my
house. My house stands at the edge of
the road, at the edge of the forest. The
little tinkling bells sound in the rooms of
my house.
The little bells are calling, calling.
DER TAG
I SAW it in the morning when all was silent.
I walked in the streets.
Men and women were silently washing
the door sills of houses. All the openings
to the houses were being made clean.
When a guest came in at the door of
one of the houses he stooped to kiss the
doorsill. Women had brought soft furs
and had dropped them on the steps before
the houses. Inside the houses the
air was warm with life. The floors had
been washed. A fragrance arose.
In every eye there was a light shining.
Wine was poured forth. Lips met. There
was laughter.
Before there had been a great meaningless noise.
All was in disorder. The
inner walls of houses were black and the
doorsills were foul.
Now old walls had broken down and
the dust of old walls had settled. The
dust had become black fertile soil. Dust
to dust and ashes to ashes.
It was a new day. Morning had come.
ANOTHER POET
MY LIFE runs out and out — dancing
in the light like the tongue of
a serpent.
It goes out and comes back.
My life is a bearer of poison.
I have gone into the plains to poison
the well at which I must drink — at which
you must drink.
That we must destroy each other is
obvious. That does not concern me. The
old poets knew that. It was whispered in
the shadows of sheep sheds ages ago.
I have thrust out of myself for another
purpose.
I am striving to generate a poison that
shall be sweeter than the drippings of
honey combs, sweeter than the lash of
the wind.
A MAN AND TWO WOMEN STANDING BY A WALL FACING THE SEA
FIRST WOMAN
MY EYES are very small. I cannot
see. I look out through narrow<
br />
slits into a world of light. The world is
bathed in light. I cannot see.
My fingers clutch at little warm spots
on the broad face of the world. This
house is a post stuck in the ground. This
tree is a hair growing on the face of a
giant.
I cannot see or feel what life is like.
My eyes are but two narrow slits into
which the light creeps slowly, feeling its
way. The light from a lighted world
tries to creep into me but the womb of
my own life is closed.
I lean against the wall with closed
eyes and wait.
Would that the light of life could come
clambering in through the narrow closed
gate of myself.
Would that the gate could be broken
and light come to flood the dark interior of me.
THE MAN
A god threw up to me out of the sea a
little god and I picked it up.
It was thus I became a holy man.
My journeys began.
Holding the little god in my hands I ran.
I ran through houses, through cities,
through towns, through halls, through
temples. I opened doors and went in.
I opened doors and came out. I was a
thread held in the hand of a weaver. They
wove me. They wove me. They wove me.
I became a holy man.
Their hands beat me. Their hands flayed me.
I knelt in streets, I knelt in silent hills,
I knelt by factory doors, on coal heaps,
at the mouths of mines, on slag heaps.
I crept in at the door of a furnace.
It was then I smelled, tasted and ate.
I have put my teeth in.
Their hands beat me, they flayed me.
Those who knew love and those who
were afraid of love flayed me.
The hands came toward me out of the
darkness, out of the sunlight. They beat
upon me as I knelt in a church. They
crept through walls into the room where
I had gone to sleep. The hands of children beat me.
The doubled fists of men
and women beat down upon me.
I became a holy man.
The blood came out of my body. The
blood came out of my body as a stream
Complete Works of Sherwood Anderson Page 327
