QUINCY TROUPE (United States, 1943)
QUINCY TROUPE (United States, 1943)
The Old People Speak of Death
For Grandmother, Leona Smith
the old people speak of death
frequently, now
my grandmother speaks of those now
gone to spirit, now
less than bone
they speak of shadows that graced
their days, made lovelier by their wings of light
speak of years & of the corpses of years, of darkness
& of relationships buried
deeper even than residue of bone
gone now, beyond hardness
gone now, beyond form
they smile now from ingrown roots
of beginnings, those who have left us
& climbed back through holes the old folks left
inside their turnstile eyes
for them to pass through
eye walk back now, with this poem
through turnstile-holes the old folks - ancestors - left inside
their tunneling eyes for me to pass through, walk back to where
eye see them there
the ones who have gone beyond hardness
the ones who have gone beyond form
see them there
darker than where roots began
& lighter than where they go
carrying spirits heavier than stone -
their memories sometimes brighter
than the flash of sudden lightning -
& green branches & flowers will grow
from these roots - wearing faces -
darker than time & blacker than even the ashes of nations
sweet music will sprout from these flowers & wave petals
like hands caressing love-stroked language
under sun-tongued mornings -
shadow the light spirit in all our eyes -
they have gone now, back to shadow
as eye climb back out of the holes of these old peoples
eyes, those spirits who sing now through this poem
who have gone now back with their spirits
to fuse with greenness
enter stones & glue their invisible traces
as faces nailed upon the transmigration of earth
their exhausted breath now singing guitar blues
voices blowing winds through white ribcages
of these boned days
gone now back to where
years run, darker than where
roots begin, greener than what
they bring - spring
the old people speak of death
frequently, now
my grandmother speaks of those now
gone to spirit, now
less than bone