Martin Robertson

Now and Then

Dream under a Carob-tree

They dance in rings, dancing, a ring of women,

a ring of men dancing on the marble circle

where they had laboured with heavy flails, beating

the husks from the grains, heavy fans shifting

the chaff from the freed grains.  One time, one way.

One image.  All man’s images of man

have him at work or at play.  Man labours and dances,

images himself at labour and at play.

Man creates himself in his own image.

That is what makes him, extraordinarily, man.

But we must watch at last our self-made image,

when the sun leaves it, gather its own shadow

into itself, itself into its shadows,

grow one again with nature in the night.