Spun Glass and Black Jade

THE FISH
—Marianne Moore (1887-1972)

wade

through black jade.
    
       Of the crow-blue mussel-shells, one keeps
    
       adjusting the ash-heaps;
           
              opening and shutting itself like

an

injured fan.
    
       The barnacles which encrust the side
    
       of the wave, cannot hide
           
               there for the submerged shafts of the

sun,

split like spun
    
       glass, move themselves with spotlight swiftness
   
       into the crevices—
          
              in and out, illuminating

the

turquoise sea
    
       of bodies. The water drives a wedge
    
       of iron through the iron edge
          
              of the cliff; whereupon the stars,

pink

rice-grains, ink-
    
        bespattered jelly fish, crabs like green
    
        lilies, and submarine
          
              toadstools, slide each on the other.

All

external
   
       marks of abuse are present on this
    
       defiant edifice—
           
             all the physical features of

ac-

cident—lack
    
       of cornice, dynamite grooves, burns, and
    
       hatchet strokes, these things stand
           
             out on it; the chasm-side is

dead.

Repeated
    
       evidence has proved that it can live
    
       on what can not revive
           
             its youth. The sea grows old in it.

_______________________

—Medusa

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.