This morning Hitler spoke in Danzig, we hear his voice. <br />A man of genius: that is, of amazing <br />Ability, courage, devotion, cored on a sick child's soul, <br />Heard clearly through the dog wrath, a sick child <br />Wailing in Danzig; invoking destruction and wailing at it. <br />Here, the day was extremely hot; about noon <br />A south wind like a blast from hell's mouth spilled a slight rain <br />On the parched land, and at five a light earthquake <br />Danced the house, no harm done. Tonight I have been amusing myself <br />Watching the blood-red moon droop slowly <br />Into the black sea through bursts of dry lightning and distant thunder. <br />Well: the day is a poem: but too much <br />Like one of Jeffers's, crusted with blood and barbaric omens, <br />Painful to excess, inhuman as a hawk's cry.<br /><br />Robinson Jeffers<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-day-is-a-poem-september-19-1939/
