I Am the Last Poet of the Village
I Am the Last Poet of the Village - meaning Summary
Rural Elegy for Passing Time
The poem presents a speaker who identifies as the last village poet, observing nature and ritual as markers of passing time and his own impending end. Images of a wooden clock, the twelfth hour, and an approaching "iron guest" suggest mortality and encroaching mechanization. The speaker anticipates his songs dying in others' hands while fields and wind remember him, creating an elegiac meditation on cultural loss and rural change.
Read Complete AnalysesI am the last poet of the village, The plank bridge is modest in its songs. I am standing for the farewell mass Of the birch trees incensing with their foliage. The candle of the waxen flesh Will burn away with a golden flame, And the moon's wooden clock Will wheeze my twelfth hour. On the blue field's track Soon an iron guest will appear. Oats, poured with the dawn, Will he reap, with a black hollow of a hand. Lifeless, in a stranger's grasp, My songs will die in your presence! But the ears of oats like horses Will mourn for their old master. The wind will take up their neighing, eternally Celebrating the mass dance. Soon, soon the wooden clock Will wheeze my twelfth hour.
Feel free to be first to leave comment.