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About this Poem 

“This poem is from a series of studies of the same field in sequential seasons. Is there anyone in the northern hemisphere who isn’t trying, in these days, to read the signs of spring?”
Susan Stewart

Field in Spring

Your eye moving

left to right across

the plowed lines

looking to touch down

on the first

shoots coming up

like a frieze

from the dark where

pale roots

and wood-lice gorge

on mold.

Red haze atop

the far trees.

A two dot, then

a ten dot

ladybug. Within

the wind, a per-

pendicular breeze.

Hold a mirror,

horizontal,

to the rain. Now

the blurred repetition

of ruled lines, the faint

green, quickening,

the doubled tears.

Wake up.

The wind is not for seeing,

neither is the first

song, soon half-

way gone,

and the figures,

the figures are not waiting.

To see what is

in motion you must move.
 

Copyright © 2015 by Susan Stewart. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on April 30, 2015, by the Academy of American Poets.

Copyright © 2015 by Susan Stewart. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on April 30, 2015, by the Academy of American Poets.

Susan Stewart

Susan Stewart

Susan Stewart was born in 1952. She is the author of several poetry collections, including Cinder: New and Selected Poems (Graywolf Press, 2017).

by this poet

poem

a homely word:
a plosive, a long cry, a quiet stop, a silent letter
          like a storm and the end of a storm,
the kind brewing
          at the top of a pine,
                    (torn hair, bowed spirits, and,
                              later, straightened shoulders)
who’

poem

 

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2
poem
I had heard the story before
about the two prisoners, alone
in the same cell, and one
gives the other lessons in a language.
Day after day, the pupil studies hard—
what else does he have to do?—and year
after year they practice,
waiting
2