Tuesday, July 08, 2003

In honor of the anniversary of her nativity, W.U.L.A.D. proudly presents…

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Shan-bear
(Note: I had to remove the links to individual photos, but you can click here to see the entire series of 13. Just click on the arrow above each photo to see the next one.)

Among twenty snowy mountains
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the Shan-bear.

I was of three minds
Like a tree
In which there are three Shan-bears.

The Shan-bear whirled in the autumn wind
It was a small part of the pantomime.

A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a Shan-bear
Are one.

I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflexions
Or the beauty of innuendos,
The Shan-bear whistling
Or just after.

Icicles filled the window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the Shan-bear
Crossed it, to and fro.
The Mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

O thin men of Hyde Street,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the Shan-bear
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?

I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the Shan-bear is involved
In what I know.

When the Shan-bear flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.

At the sight of Shan-bears
Flying in a green light
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.

He rode over Polk St.Station
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
for Shan-bears.

The river is moving.
The Shan-bear must be flying.

It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The Shan-bear sat
In the cedar limbs.