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Next Issue Peter Scupham at 85: a celebration Contributions by Anne Stevenson, Robert Wells, Peter Davidson, Lawrence Sail

This poem is taken from PN Review 27, Volume 9 Number 1, September - October 1982.

The World: a naive poem (translated by Robert Hass and Robert Pinsky) Czeslaw Milosz

THE PATH

Down where the green valley opens wider,
Along the path with grass blurring its border,
Through an oak grove just broken into flower,
Children come walking home from school together.

In a pencil case with a lid that slides open,
Bits of bread roll around with stumps of crayon,
And the penny hidden away by all children
For spring and the first cuckoo in the garden.

The girl's beret and her brother's school-cap
Bob, as they walk, above the fringe of bushes.
A jay screams, hopping in a tree-top;
Over the trees, clouds drift in long ridges.

Now, past the curve, you can see the red roof:
Father leans on his hoe in the front garden,
Then bends down to touch a half-opened leaf;
From his tilled patch, he can see the whole region.
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