Wallace Stevens - The Idea of Order at Key West lyrics
[Wallace Stevens - The Idea of Order at Key West lyrics]
She sang beyond the genius of the sea
The water never formed to mind or voice
Like a body wholly body, fluttering
Its empty sleeves and yet it's mimic motion
Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry
That was not ours although we understood
Inhuman, of the veritable ocean
The sea was not a mask no more was she
The song and water were not medleyed sound
Even if what she sang was what she heard
Since what she sang was uttered word by word
It may be that in all her phrases stirred
The grinding water and the gasping wind
But it was she and not the sea we heard
For she was the maker of the song she sang
The ever hooded, tragic-gestured sea
Was merely a place by which
She walked to sing
Whose spirit is this? we said
Because we knew
It was the spirit that we sought and knew
That we should ask this often as she sang
If it was only the dark voice of the sea
That rose, or even colored by many waves
If it was only the outer voice of sky
And cloud, of the sunken coral water-walled
However clear, it would have been deep air
The heaving speech of air, a summer sound
Repeated in a summer without end
And sound alone but it was more than that
More even than her voice, and ours, among
The meaningless plungings of water
And the wind
Theatrical distances, bronze shadows heaped
On high horizons, mountainous atmospheres
Of sky and sea
It was her voice that made
The sky acutest at it's vanishing
She measured to the hour it's solitude
She was the single artificer of the world
In which she sang and when she sang, the sea
Whatever self it had, became the self
That was her song, for she
Was the maker then we
As we beheld her striding there alone
Knew that there never was a world for her
Except the one she sang and, singing, made
Ramon Fernandez, tell me, if you know
Why, when the singing ended and we turned
Toward the town, tell why the glassy lights
The lights in the fishing
Boats at anchor there
As night descended, tilting in the air
Mastered the night and portioned out the sea
Fixing emblazoned zones and fiery poles
Arranging, deepening, enchanting night
Oh! Blessed rage for order, pale Ramon
The maker's rage to order words of the sea
Words of the fragrant portals, dimly-starred
And of ourselves and of our origins
In ghostlier demarcations, keener sounds
The water never formed to mind or voice
Like a body wholly body, fluttering
Its empty sleeves and yet it's mimic motion
Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry
That was not ours although we understood
Inhuman, of the veritable ocean
The sea was not a mask no more was she
The song and water were not medleyed sound
Even if what she sang was what she heard
Since what she sang was uttered word by word
It may be that in all her phrases stirred
The grinding water and the gasping wind
But it was she and not the sea we heard
For she was the maker of the song she sang
The ever hooded, tragic-gestured sea
Was merely a place by which
She walked to sing
Whose spirit is this? we said
Because we knew
It was the spirit that we sought and knew
That we should ask this often as she sang
If it was only the dark voice of the sea
That rose, or even colored by many waves
If it was only the outer voice of sky
And cloud, of the sunken coral water-walled
However clear, it would have been deep air
The heaving speech of air, a summer sound
Repeated in a summer without end
And sound alone but it was more than that
More even than her voice, and ours, among
The meaningless plungings of water
And the wind
Theatrical distances, bronze shadows heaped
On high horizons, mountainous atmospheres
Of sky and sea
It was her voice that made
The sky acutest at it's vanishing
She measured to the hour it's solitude
She was the single artificer of the world
In which she sang and when she sang, the sea
Whatever self it had, became the self
That was her song, for she
Was the maker then we
As we beheld her striding there alone
Knew that there never was a world for her
Except the one she sang and, singing, made
Ramon Fernandez, tell me, if you know
Why, when the singing ended and we turned
Toward the town, tell why the glassy lights
The lights in the fishing
Boats at anchor there
As night descended, tilting in the air
Mastered the night and portioned out the sea
Fixing emblazoned zones and fiery poles
Arranging, deepening, enchanting night
Oh! Blessed rage for order, pale Ramon
The maker's rage to order words of the sea
Words of the fragrant portals, dimly-starred
And of ourselves and of our origins
In ghostlier demarcations, keener sounds