Lundú

By Jay Wright b. 1935 Jay Wright

Moonlight, if I sleep on this bank

and lay my head against your kiss,

I recognize the river’s sound.

Timeless me, all day I raise

my knife against the sugar cane,

sugar brute who takes my days for pay.

Sun glow in spring is crystal clean.

Sun glow north, sun glow south,

sun glow summer, sun glow fall.

The fall of sweetness weighs me.

Aribú of the sweetest god,

will this or what winter

be the longest sleep?

I serenade his green fingers,

his water’s magic, his boot in the earth,

the way he pulls the green crowns to light.

Aribú of the grainy god,

will this or what fall

be the desolation of our mother?

I serenade the return of even light

to her wrinkled face.

Moonlight, now I lie on the crown

of my own desire,

hutched

in the fall of the god,

the fall of the cane,

the fall of my own night.

Source: Transfigurations: Collected Poems (Louisiana State University Press, 2000)

Biography

Frequently described as a “poet’s poet,” Jay Wright has quietly built an impressive career as one of America’s leading African-American voices. His work, praised for its evocative language, introspective tone, and mythological imagery, has won many honors, including the Lannan Literary Award for Poetry, Guggenheim and MacArthur fellowships, and Yale’s prestigious Bollingen Prize. Wright’s plays, essays, and poetry generally . . .

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