![\"\"](\"https:\/\/2.bp.blogspot.com\/_niPwTW3rBbU\/SAiG_NQPgmI\/AAAAAAAAA3I\/dNNqTfcx5PY\/s1600-h\/ox5.jpg\")
<\/a>An Ox Looks at Man<\/span><\/p>\n
They are more delicate even than shrubs and they run <\/span> and run from one side to the other, always forgetting <\/span> something. Surely they lack I don\u2019t know what <\/span> (translated by Mark Strand<\/a>)<\/p>\n In Praise of Fertile Land<\/a>,<\/span> ed. by Claudia Mauro<\/p>\n (Wonderful. And if one has the Ten Oxherding<\/a> pictures in the back of one\u2019s mind, or the Cow Passes Through koan<\/a>\u2026 Possibly even more interesting\u2026 Thank you, Myozen!)<\/span><\/p>\n An Ox Looks at Man They are more delicate even than shrubs and they run and run from one side to the other, always forgetting something. Surely they lack I don\u2019t know what basic ingredient, though they present themselves as noble or serious, at times. Oh, terribly serious, even tragic. Poor things, one would say […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":120,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1582","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\n
basic ingredient, though they present themselves <\/span>
as noble or serious, at times. Oh, terribly serious, <\/span> even tragic. Poor things, one would say that they hear <\/span>
neither the song of the air nor the secrets of hay; <\/span> likewise they seem not to see what is visible <\/span>
and common to each of us, in space. And they are sad, <\/span> and in the wake of sadness they come to cruelty. <\/span>
All their expression lives in their eyes\u2013and loses itself <\/span> to a simple lowering of lids, to a shadow. <\/span>
And since there is little of the mountain about them \u2014<\/span> nothing in the hair or in the terribly fragile limbs <\/span>
but coldness and secrecy \u2014 it is impossible for them <\/span>
to settle themselves into forms that are calm, lasting <\/span>
and necessary. They have, perhaps, a kind <\/span>
of melancholy grace (one minute) and with this they allow <\/span>
themselves to forget the problems and translucent<\/span>
inner emptiness that make them so poor and so lacking <\/span>
when it comes to uttering silly and painful sounds: <\/span>
desire, love, jealousy <\/span>
(what do we know?) \u2014 sounds that scatter and fall in the
field <\/span> like troubled stones and burn the herbs and the water, <\/span>
and after this it is hard to keep chewing away at our truth.<\/span>
Carlos Drummond de Andrade<\/a><\/p>\n