David and I that summer cut trails on the Survey,
All week in the valley for wages, in air that was
steeped
in the wail of mosquitoes, but over the sunalive
week-ends
we climbed, to get from the ruck of the camp, the
surly
Poker, the wrangling, the snoring under the fetid
Tents, and because we had joy in our lengthening
coltish
Muscles, and mountains for David were made to see
over,
Stairs from the valleys and steps to the sun's
retreats.
...................
In August, the second attempt, we ascended The
Fortress.
By the Forks of the Spray we caught five trout and fried
them
Over a balsam fire. The woods were alive
With the vaulting of mule-deer and drenched with clouds all
the morning,
Till we burst at noon to the flashing and floating
round
Of the peaks. Coming down we picked in our hats the
bright
And sunhot raspberries, eating them under a mighty
Spruce, while marten moving like quicksilver scouted
us.
...........................
Somehow I worked down the fifty impossible feet
To the ledge, calling and getting no answer but echoes
Released in the cirque, and trying not to reflect on
What an answer would mean. He lay still, with his lean
Young face upturned and strangely unmarred, but his
legs
Splayed beneath him, beside the final drop,
Six hundred feet sheer to the ice. My throat stopped
When I reached him, for he was alive......
..........................
I said that he fell straight to the ice where they found
him,
And none but the sun and incurious clouds have
lingered
Around the marks of that day on the ledge of the
Finger,
That day, the last of my youth, on the last of our
mountains.
Earle Birney ,1942.
"David" is too long a poem to post here, but is well liked by Canadians for its
The argument of whether this poem is based on a real incident (plus a short bio of Birney) is found here:
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