Poem Revisited: Day of the Earth, Night of the Locusts, by Scott Edward Anderson
From Terrain.org’s Issue No. 8 (Autumn 2000) comes one of my favorite Scott Edward Anderson poems. And that’s saying something, considering how many times he has graced our pages. You may read this poem and a couple others — plus find links to newer work — at http://www.terrain.org/poetry/8/anderson.htm:
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Day of the Earth, Night of the Locusts
by Scott Edward Anderson
Owlspent, our days are numbered,
we count them in their passing
with eyes closed, and night comes
easily to those who sleep
with blinded eyes wide open.
And double-talk is all we get
from those whose hands hold fate.
In the larkspur
at the grove’s end,
pagan by rite,
we suss the folly of symbolism
and awaken
to the owl’s haunting.
Eyespeak, our gods implore us
to look beyond our smugness.
And there, we find
our temples
are burdened by wreckage
and our own misdeeding.
Do we good justice by our actions:
Uneducated stewards, electable
guardians of a lackluster paradise.
The apples bruise to the grasses,
blades fat as a night-sweat.
The others have little say,
our own descent is a cant—
The question is:
Can we be faithful stewards
when there is no bounty?
Themocracy
I think that part of the problem is that we, as stewards, can be blind to what *is* bounty. We piss away that which has value in a hamfisted effort to harvest that which we percieve has value.
Singular in our purpose, we rush heedless and headlong through our pursuit of wealth/bounty, oblivious to the detritus we leave in our wake.
I like the image of a descent as a cant – it implies a certain uncertainty, like a drunk trying to right his pitch as he stumbles across the floor.
Thanks for the forum and thanks for the poetry. Best, M.