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{"title":"老师流浪的阿根廷老人","authors":"Ethan Yan","doi":"10.1353/wsj.2024.a922179","DOIUrl":null,"url":null,"abstract":"<span><span>In lieu of</span> an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:</span>\n<p> <ul> <li><!-- html_title --> The Teacher, and: The Old Argentine Wandering <!-- /html_title --></li> <li> Ethan Yan </li> </ul> <h2>The Teacher</h2> <p><em>(for Dr. Kraft)</em></p> <p><span>Aquinas taught the things of the world</span><span>Through the things of the sky and the blue</span><span>Infinity of his reason, but not tangling</span></p> <p><span>Like the river at the end of the mind</span><span>That taught the things of the sky</span><span>Through the apparitions of the sky.</span></p> <p><span>And one must imagine that this river,</span><span>A saraband of the sun and the stars</span><span>Tangling within itself, was a creation</span></p> <p><span>Of all things, and of the craftsman, incarnate,</span><span>Of all things, like the silent sepulcher distilled</span><span>From the night, nothing inside but the river itself</span></p> <p><span>And the kind, gray sun waking the planets</span><span>Across the evergreen eternity of the river changing</span><span>Continuously in a series approaching a final slate—</span></p> <p><span>There, in the definition and space of the sepulcher,</span><span>The sun, the river, and the grounding converged</span><span>Tangling, forever changed in perception. <strong>[End Page 113]</strong></span></p> <h2>The Old Argentine Wandering</h2> <p><span>Too much he has had with the world,</span><span>For many snowbound nights those birds have hung,</span><span>And many a night, bounded by the frost of the sky,</span></p> <p><span>The birds galloped across the direction</span><span>Of the valley, across the gliding night, within</span><span>The glimmering of the glass beads,</span></p> <p><span>But without the sight to see the birds,</span><span>He had forever remained bound by night—</span><span>Frozen by the bounding of the night,</span></p> <p><span>Which is the bounding within</span><span>Of the supposed self, which, boundless</span><span>In the perception of that same night,</span></p> <p><span>Supposed a new threshold to things, crossing</span><span>A total strait among the stars and orbiting not</span><span>The compass itself but the bound ideas. <strong>[End Page 114]</strong></span></p> Ethan Yan Columbia, Maryland Copyright © 2024 Johns Hopkins University Press ... </p>","PeriodicalId":40622,"journal":{"name":"WALLACE STEVENS JOURNAL","volume":"15 1","pages":""},"PeriodicalIF":0.1000,"publicationDate":"2024-03-13","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":"0","resultStr":"{\"title\":\"The Teacher, and: The Old Argentine Wandering\",\"authors\":\"Ethan Yan\",\"doi\":\"10.1353/wsj.2024.a922179\",\"DOIUrl\":null,\"url\":null,\"abstract\":\"<span><span>In lieu of</span> an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of 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The Teacher, and: The Old Argentine Wandering
In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:
The Teacher, and: The Old Argentine Wandering Ethan Yan The Teacher (for Dr. Kraft)
Aquinas taught the things of the world Through the things of the sky and the blue Infinity of his reason, but not tangling
Like the river at the end of the mind That taught the things of the sky Through the apparitions of the sky.
And one must imagine that this river, A saraband of the sun and the stars Tangling within itself, was a creation
Of all things, and of the craftsman, incarnate, Of all things, like the silent sepulcher distilled From the night, nothing inside but the river itself
And the kind, gray sun waking the planets Across the evergreen eternity of the river changing Continuously in a series approaching a final slate—
There, in the definition and space of the sepulcher, The sun, the river, and the grounding converged Tangling, forever changed in perception. [End Page 113]
The Old Argentine Wandering Too much he has had with the world, For many snowbound nights those birds have hung, And many a night, bounded by the frost of the sky,
The birds galloped across the direction Of the valley, across the gliding night, within The glimmering of the glass beads,
But without the sight to see the birds, He had forever remained bound by night— Frozen by the bounding of the night,
Which is the bounding within Of the supposed self, which, boundless In the perception of that same night,
Supposed a new threshold to things, crossing A total strait among the stars and orbiting not The compass itself but the bound ideas. [End Page 114]
Ethan Yan Columbia, Maryland Copyright © 2024 Johns Hopkins University Press ...