New Nation

Land of Refuge

A mountain of white ice

standing still

in the water

here forty fathoms deep

and flowing swiftly

from the north;

grampuses and whales

going by in companies,

spouting up water in streams

(these wonders of the Lord, I, Francis Higginson,

saw on the way to Salem);

a fair morning,

and still many leagues from land,

but the air warm and spiced—

yellow flowers on the sea,

sometimes singly,

sometimes in sheets;

high trees on every hill and in every dale,

on every island,

and even on the stony cliffs;

banks of earth

on which are groves of trees,

and no undergrowth of bush or brambles;

the sandy shore overrun with vines

of melons and of grapes

which the beat and surging of the sea

overflows

(this I, Arthur Barlowe, saw);

trees of sweet-smelling wood

with rind and leaves sweet-smelling

as the bark of cinnamon and leaves of bay;

soil dark and soft,

strawberries everywhere,

hickory nuts and sassafras;

here are grapes white and red,

very sweet and strong,

and plums, black and red,

and single roses, white and red and damask;

we have eaten venison with the Indians,

and drunk water with spice in it—

Indian corn, even the coarsest,

makes as pleasant a meat as rice.

(Without any show of anger

the Iroquois crunched our fingers in their mouths,

and with their teeth tore off the nails;

then hacked our fingers off, joint by joint,

with stone hatchets, or with a shell too dull

to cut the sinews;

and in the stumps of our thumbs drove up spikes

until the elbow;

but so great the help of Jesus,

with this maimed hand I, Isaac Jogues,

Jesuit and priest,

baptised an Indian among the captives,

using the raindrops on a long leaf of corn.)

Let others cry, “New lands!

where Indians shall bring

kernels of gold, wagons full of gold;

whatever spills upon the way

we shall tread carelessly,

for we shall have so much of gold—

so many pearls to sew upon our clothes;

away,

unthrifty gentlemen,

to the forests of Virginia!

There are lands

to feed all the poor of England,

trees

to build each a home;

give us but axes, shovels, and ploughshares,

and away then to America,

all you poor!”

In England a watch is set about us

and we are clapt in jails,

and Holland is a dear place,

for there they live by trading—

but we are a plain country people

whose trade is husbandry,

and we would worship God as simply as the shepherds

and Galilean fishermen,

live as plainly;

away,

dissenters,

to New England!

A great wind is blowing,

heavy rain—

thick darkness;

the sailors running here and there,

shouting at one another

to pull at this and at that rope,

and the waves pouring over the ship;

landing in the rain—

the cold rain

falling steadily;

the ground wet,

all the leaves dripping,

and the rocks running with water;

the sky is cloud on cloud

in which the brief sun barely shines,

the ground snow on snow,

the cold air

wind and blast;

we have followed our God

into this wilderness

of trees heavy with snow,

rocks seamed with ice,

that in the freezing blasts

the remnant of this remnant

kindle so bright, so lasting a fire

on this continent,

prisoners of ice and darkness everywhere

will turn and come to it

to warm their hands and hearts.

Brief History

Glaciers pushing so far and surely

thaw and withdraw;

even the deep,

while the explosion of its waves

dynamites the cliffs,

leaves new lands,

new groves and habitations

beside the glittering currents flowing quickly

into the silver waters of the sun.

Here are men who find

a comfortable bed

among the rocks,

who wrap themselves

in their coats

to sleep upon the ground

while their horse feeds in the grass beside the lake;

who catch trout in the brook

and roast them on the ashes;

eat the flesh

of bear for meat, the white meat of turkeys

for their bread, and whose salt is brought

in an iron pot across the mountains;

who live

where two hundred acres may be had

for a calf and a wool hat;

or walk where there is no road

nor any man, except the savage.

All the bells of Boston

are tolling

a solemn peal;

the market men will take no more paper money—

hard money only;

soldiers with bare feet showing through their shoes

in the snow, the smoke of the camp-fires blowing into their

eyes;

for food a bowl of beef soup full of burnt leaves;

no house or hut, and even the sick in tents.

The rays of your light,

like the sun’s, Republic of France,

shone first in the west; the eater shall give meat,

and out of the strong sweetness—

out of the bones of the French monarchy

the honey of freedom;

the bells of Philadelphia are ringing

as if for a fire,

and the crowds,

shouting and hallooing,

fill the streets;

ring, bells, throughout the night,

let no one sleep;

ring, clash, and peal

until the log cabins and cottages of cedar shingles,

the houses of grey stone or of brick,

tremble,

and the listeners

feel in their flesh

the vibrations of your metal voices

ringing,

Proclaim liberty,

proclaim liberty throughout the land!

Wrongs,

like molecules of gas that seep into a house,

explode

in particles of fire!

A captain gallops down the street,

wheels,

and the hoof of his horse

sends the pie plates shining in the sun,

his horse stops

at what is

flowing from the battlefield,

sniffs at it, and will not cross;

this is not water—

it is blood

in a thick and ropy stream.

(The dying Negress says,

I cannot eat dry hominy:

I lived in Massa’s house,

and used to have white bread and coffee;

and I want something sweet in my mouth.)

On the lawn the Negroes dance

and clap their hands,

So glad! so glad!

Bless the Lord for freedom!

So glad! so glad!

Do not mourn the dandelions—

that their golden heads become grey

in no time at all

and are blown about in the wind;

each season shall bring them again to the lawns;

but how long the seeds of justice

stay underground,

how much blood and ashes of precious things

to manure so rare and brief a growth.

Currents of waste

wind

along the river

between the factories—

the colonnades

and sacred groves

of chimneys;

where once the road

in ruts and ridges—lines of rails

hold to a gleaming purpose,

come wind, come rain, come winter or the night;

build storey on storey out of glass;

light electric lights,

row after row, whose shining wires

will not flicker in the wind;

let the streets sound

with the horns and hosannahs of motor cars!

Man, you need no longer

drudge at plow or oar, no longer trudge;

proclaim this liberty to all!

If bread may be as plentiful,

shall we not share it

as we share water?

Notes:

Based on Albert Bushnell Hart’s American History Told by Contemporaries. C. R.

Copyright Credit: From The Poems of Charles Reznikoff by Charles Reznikoff, edited by Seamus Cooney. Reprinted by permission of Black Sparrow Books, an imprint of David R. Godine, Publisher, Inc. Copyright 2005 by Charles Reznikoff.

Source: Poems 1918-1975: The Complete Poems of Charles Reznikoff (Black Sparrow Press, 1977)