Read this entry with a glass of water handy

The Poet in the Desert by Charles Erskine Scott Wood (Stanza One):

I have come into the Desert because my soul is athirst as the Desert is athirst;
My soul which is the soul of all; universal, not different.
We are athirst for the waters which make beautiful the path
And entice the grass, the willows and poplars,
So that in the heat of the day we may lie in a cool shadow,
Soothed as by the hands of quiet women, listening to the discourse of running waters as the voices of women, exchanging the confidences of love.

I like this poem—particularly the first few stanzas—because it paints a vivid picture in my mind.  I can see the arid landscape rolling on for as far as the eye can see. Sand is everywhere, uninterrupted by any foliage, animal, or other person. I feel the longing, if not the physical thirst.  

I also like this poem because it reminds me of The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot: 

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit	
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mud-cracked houses If there were water	
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water
A spring
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water

By the way I hope you’re reading this with a cold and therefore prompted to drink lots of fluids.  Because I’m not finished yet.

The Poet in the Desert doesn’t just remind me of another poem that conveniently is my favorite poem. It also reminds me of Antoine de Saint-Exupery, of author and airplane pilot of The Little Prince fame. In the eighth chapter of his book, Wind, Sand, and Stars, Saint-Exupery describes being marooned in the desert after he and his copilot were caught in a sandstorm.  

“When we had struggled up to the top of the black hump we sat down and looked at each other.  At our feet lay our valley of sand, opening into a desert of sand whose dazzling brightness seared out eyes.  As far as the eye could see lay empty space.” 

Even if you don’t read the entire book* you should definitely read “Prisoner of the Sand” as he and his copilot try to walk an entire desert, without water, in search of shelter and human help. 

Huh. For some reason my mouth is really dry. Excuse me as I dunk my head in the bathtub.

*Which I don’t suggest, although personally I thought the other chapters paled in comparison with this one, which was brilliantly crafted.