Kwame Dawes. Courtesy photo. Tracy K. Smith, former poet Laureate, has a wonderful way with strange and haunting images, that still manage to tell a resonant story.
I think of the old story she tells here – how future generations must contend with the grand absence that comes with the passing of time.
Yet, there is hope, there is hope in art, in song, and one imagines, in this poem. “An Old Story” is a beautiful anthem to the singing.
An Old Story By Tracy K. Smith
We were made to understand it would be Terrible. Every small want, every niggling urge, Every hate swollen to a kind of epic wind,
Livid, the land, and ravaged, like a rageful Dream. The worst in us having taken over And broken the rest utterly down.
A long age Passed. When at last we knew how little Would survive us—how little we had mended
Or built that was not now lost—something Large and old awoke. And then our singing Brought on a different manner of weather.
Then animals long believed gone crept down From trees. We took new stock of one another. We wept to be reminded of such color.
Kwame Dawes. Courtesy photo. Tracy K. Smith, former poet Laureate, has a wonderful way with strange and haunting images, that still manage to tell a resonant story.
I think of the old story she tells here – how future generations must contend with the grand absence that comes with the passing of time.
Yet, there is hope, there is hope in art, in song, and one imagines, in this poem. “An Old Story” is a beautiful anthem to the singing.
An Old Story By Tracy K. Smith
We were made to understand it would be Terrible. Every small want, every niggling urge, Every hate swollen to a kind of epic wind,
Livid, the land, and ravaged, like a rageful Dream. The worst in us having taken over And broken the rest utterly down.
A long age Passed. When at last we knew how little Would survive us—how little we had mended
Or built that was not now lost—something Large and old awoke. And then our singing Brought on a different manner of weather.
Then animals long believed gone crept down From trees. We took new stock of one another. We wept to be reminded of such color.