Populist
I dreamed myself of their people, I am of their people,
I thought they watched me that I watched them
that they
watched the sun and the clouds for the cities
are no longer mine image images
of existence (or song
of myself?) and the roads for the light
in the rear-view mirror is not
death but the light
of other lives tho if I stumble on a rock I speak
of rock if I am to say anything anything
if I am to tell of myself splendor
of the roads secrecy
of paths for a word like a glass
sphere encloses
the word opening
and opening
myself and I am sick
for a moment
with fear let the magic
infants speak we who have brought steel
and stone again
and again
into the cities in that word blind
word must speak
and speak the magic
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poem by George Oppen
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