Comes today from Poetry Daily a missive bearing Selections from The Black Riders by Stephen Crane. Now Crane was a poet of the late 19th century. He died at the age of 30 or 31, in 1900. I read his stuff in college.

This first selection struck me so firmly 25 years ago that I memorized it, and carry it about in my poor brain to this day. I was a little surprised to see it coming at me in an e-mail, because I’ve always considered it pretty obscure.

III
In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter – bitter,” he answered;
“But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.”

This section I don’t remember but it’s pretty cool.

XXIV
I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
Round and round they sped.
I was disturbed at this;
I accosted the man.
“It is futile,” I said,
“You can never –”
“You lie,” he cried,
And ran on.

Check this out. A metaphor for the stupidity of misbegotten human endeavor, if I’ve ever seen one. And it hands me a chuckle.

XXXI
Many workmen
Built a huge ball of masonry
Upon a mountain-top.
Then they went to the valley below,
And turned to behold their work.
“It is grand,” they said;
They loved the thing.
Of a sudden, it moved:
It came upon them swiftly;
It crushed them all to blood.
But some had opportunity to squeal.

So there’s some Stephen Crane for you. Pretty drear, huh? And you might say, well the poor bastard was dying young, and was justified. Fair enough. But the way we look at life is a choice. And for proof I say Look, there goes Mattie Stepanek, who lived half as long and knew he was sick, and wrote poems to meet his days with joy.

Food for thought.