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consciousness
in itself
of itself carrying
'the principle
of the actual' being
actual
itself ((but maybe this is a love
poem
Mary) ) nevertheless
neither
the power
of the self nor the racing
car nor the lilly
is sweet but this
From New and Collected Poems by George Oppen. Copyright © 1975 by George Oppen. Reprinted by permission of New Directions. All rights reserved.
Cell by cell the baby made herself, the cells
Made cells. That is to say
The baby is made largely of milk. Lying in her father’s arms, the little seed eyes
Moving, trying to see, smiling for us
To see, she will make a household
To her need of these rooms—Sara, little seed,
Me! he says, hand on his chest.
Actually, his shirt.
And there, perhaps,
The question.
Pioneers! But trailer people?
Wood box full of tools—
The most
American. A sort of
Shrinking
in themselves. A
Less than adult: old.
A pocket knife,
A tool—
And I
Here talking to the man?
The sky
That dawned along the road
And all I've been
Is not myself? I think myself
Is what I've seen and not myself
A man marooned
No longer looks for ships, imagines
Anything on the horizon.