PORTOVENERE

Variations on a theme by Montale

There the Triton leaps out

from the waves lapping

the sill of a Christian

temple and every next

hour is old every doubt

is led by the hand

like a little girl friend

no one is there to look at himself

or be held by the sound of his own words

here you are at the beginnings

it is senseless to choose

you will leave later

to put a face on

Here you are at the sources

there the Triton leaps out

no one is there to look

at himself or be held

by the sound of his own words

every next hour is old

it is senseless to choose

every doubt is led by the hand

like a little girl friend

out of the waves lapping the sill

of a Christian temple

you will leave later

to put a face on

From the waves lapping

there the Triton leaps out

you are where the springs

well up and brim over

the sill of a Christian

W. S. MERWIN

looking at himself

bending to hear his own words

it is senseless to choose

every doubt is led by the hand

like a little girl friend

you will leave later

to put a face on

THE OLD YEAR

I remember the light

at the end of one year

the gold mist is still bright

thousands of miles from here

and voices were calling

across the steep meadows

until the late falling

asleep of their echoes

less than a breath before

the silence where they are

the bare veined limbs are more

clear than ever but far

out of reach as always

lit by a new distance

and its beam that catches

the ring of last moments

I have stayed up to see

each time they are farther

than I thought they would be

one after another

those occasions that I

was to be happy in

while they were passing by

as I knew even then