Land
lies in water; it is shadowed green.
Shadows,
or are they shallows, as its edges
showing
the line of long sea-weed ledges
where
weeds hang to the simple blue from green.
Or
does the land lean down to lift the sea from under,
drwaing
it unperturbed around itself?
Along
the fine tan sandy shelf
is
the land tugging at the sea from under?
The
shadow of Newfoundland lies flat and still.
Labrador's
yellow, where the moony Eskimo
has
oiled it. We can stroke these lovely bays,
under
a glass as if they were expected to blossom,
or
as if to provide a clean cage for invisible fish.
The
names of seashore towns run out to sea,
the
names of cities cross the neighboring mountains
-
the printer here experiencing the same excitement
as
when emotion too far exceeds its cause.
Theese
peninsulas take the water between thumb and finger
like
women feeling for the smoothness of yard-goods.
Mapped
waters are more quiet than the land is,
lending
the land their waves' own conformation:
and
Norway's hare runs south in agitation,
profiles
investigate the sea, where land land is.
Are
they assigned, or can the countries pick their colors?
-
What suits the character of the native waters best.
Topography
displays no favorites; North's as near as West.
More
delicate than the historians' are the map-makers' colors.
Elizabeth
Bishop
from:
Elizabeth Bishop, The Complete Poems, American Book - Stratford
Press, 1969, New Jersey