名人诗歌|Appalachian Front

Panther lies next to Wharncliffe

and Wharncliffe next to Devon

and Devon next to Delorme.

In each a single fisherman casts

in the slow， black water of the Big Sandy.

Catfish^{1 is the whisker lurking2}

behind the bobbing cork^3.

He lives， it seems， in dense^{4 night}

from day to day until the fisherman

from Wharncliffe pulls him out

to be fried in tin-roof， tarpaper shacks⁵

from there to Matewan.

Politicians call this valley

a depressed^{6 area.}

But， under the sun， my heart

will not have it so.

Straight up from the brackish^{7 water，}

up the mountainside， green pointed^{8 trees}

as close as bird's wings

grow fierce and clean，

and then for miles beside the tracks

the river moves faster over the rocks

and the water isn't black at all

only the silt^{9 underneath10.}

The water over the rocks

is running clear and cold and pure.