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summons up remembrance of things past).
The sum of summer suns, & shady groves.
The regal Word, lasting, sustains our loves
& raises them, renewed, & holds them fast
to Paradise – a Petersburg beyond all puny
tyrants’ paltry sway. Their temporary swag-
swagger, these staggering boyars of gulag...
each chill-fired terror of the territory...
fuming mob & desiccated Pharaoh... all
shall go : all shall bow down before le Règle
d’Amour. Who comes disguised as fruit-seller,
orphan... persecuted woman, broken crawl
of superstition-scapegoat... fraud’s victim,
a bully’s game. Who travels incognito,
silent... Blackstone in his orchard, or
the gardener near Olivet... It’s him,
she cried. My Everyman : is He. World
pivots on her utterance... as the wasp
needles the axis of the earth. Osip,
disguised as stolen meal... goldfinch, hurled
up to eternal granary. To feed there, &
to feed... among the atoning seraphim.
We shall return there, you & I, some
summer evening – Anna, Elena, & Marina –
Gumilev, Brodsky, Osip & Hope... all singing
pilgrims to the akme-stone : that human grail,
that cup of sorrows turned to joy, that real
St. Eu – chrism of Louis & T.S. (sobornosting).
6.20.12
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