Staunton spectator and vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1896-1916, 1911-02-10
POET AND PEASANT

ing at the sea, which looked so i'm
mense and blue, as if it stretched to
the end of the world. l looked at the
sky. which was blue. clear and cloud
less. as if it did not know what rain
was. l looked at the cornfelds, which
were gEL.ering in the sunlight.
Suddenly there emerged from some
where right in front of me a peasant
dressed in the garb of townsman-
long black coat, white starched shirt
and brown derby
III beg your pardon-are you the
poet?'
Yes
My name is Peter Petersen at
your service. 1 am a kind of col
league of yours"
Thank YOU
"Yes-I understand you are happy
to meet a man of intelligence among
the peasants
No." l replied, in my most deter
mined tone of voice; Il am not happy.
1 hate poets. They are foolish and
ridiculous and conceited and unbear-
able--and so stupid
But how about yourself?"
"Oh. am of the very worst, i'm
agine-every tine l meet a nm l
ask him to red my poems, torture
him, give him my books, ask him
what he thinks of them"
Then you just suit me-" the man
said, for l am just like you. with
the only exception that l have not
had any books published YETI
There you have one great advan
tase,' l said sadly.
He lay down next to me and smiled.
Every man has his shell which
must be broken" he said; yours -
Mine is very thick, Mr.. Petersen"
May l have a talk with your"
mo, Mr.. Petersen, you may not. l
have come here to work. was just
making poems when you came and
disturbed me-"
Il could see that he replied in the
most fraternal way. Il could see that
very plainly"
Why did you interrupt me, then
Mr.. Petersen? / assure you that If
| had seen you making poetry l would
never
I'VE will let that CO." he said, with
a grand movement of his hand. Il
like good joke, but came to hear
your opinion of my poems
Give them to me, Mr.. Petersen;
give them to me. l shall read them,
but l tell you in advance that l am
very slow and very conscientious.
He looked at me and shook his head.
II do not write anything down."
he said; cit forms, itself in my soul
and speak it out aloud. There is
one about the swalfow-listen!''
l rose to my elbows and looked at
him dimly. 81
'Mr. Petersen, l have never done
anything which gives you the right
to recite poems to me this beautiful
midsummer day. Mr.. Petersen, you
must keep quiet"
i But Mr.. Petersen was already
deep in the swallow The swallow
that fits through the balmy spring
air, longing insanely for it's wife,
that had taught it the bliss of love.
"Mr. Petersen, excuse me for in
terrupting you, but swallow does
not think like that at all. l know
something about natural history"
Poets usually don't" he replied,
distrustingly.
$50 much the worse for them"
He kept on. He begged the swal-
low to lend him it's wings that he
might soar high above the noise and
dirt of earthly life.
Excuse me for interrupting you,
Mr.. Petersen, but you would feel
no more at ease up there with the
wings of a swallow than would the
swallow if it had borrowed your
black coat and shoes and was sitting
here reciting verses"
He had moved way out to the
edge of the bluff and was dangling
his feet in the air and staring en-
I Enthusiastically into space.
''Look-look! The swallows are
aitting about me-look at that one
dying around my feet!"
Excuse me for interrupting you,
Mr.. Petersen, but that swallow has
its nest just below you. If you can
do so without getting dizzy I would
ask you to bend forward and you
would see the hole. 1t wants to fly
to its wife, but can not do so be-
cause of your big boots. If you
would move your feet a little
He stood up, pulled down his vest
! and looked angry.
you are materialist," he
growled.
''No, Mr.. Petersen, I am not. 1t
hurts me to have you say that; but
you disturbed me while l was max
ing poems, and l can not bear
that. And, then, know a
little about natural history"
He went away unpacified.