![]() The Principles of Concealment
If you're caught in the open In an exposed position, alone, Disarmed, and certain you may be Attacked at any moment, you should settle quickly All your differences with whatever lies Around you, forcing yourself to agree With rocks and bushes, trees and wild grass, Horses, cows, or sheep, even debris To find what you have in common. You no longer Want to seem what you are, but something Harmless and familiar: in a landscape Given to greenness and the cold pastels Of stubble and field stone, Protective coloration may be too much To hope for, beyond your powers Like the beatitudes of browsing And those conspicuously alarming colors That declare you're poisonous Or taste terribleall may be doomed To fail with an enemy equipped to kill From a distance. Your shape betrays you, And you should try to break it With disruptive patterns: if an enemy sees you, Not as a whole, but as a head distinct From a torso, as legs or arms By themselveshe may ignore you And let you have your moment In the sun as an abstraction gone To pieces, as a surface mottled and dappled Ambiguously by intercepted light Like a man cancelled. But all these efforts Will come to nothing if you move: one gesture May catch all eyes. If you stand Still then, or stay seated If you're sitting down, or go on lying Down if you're lying, an easy solution May occur to you, cheek to cheek With the hard facts of inorganic life: That you have no enemy, That no one is hunting you, That all your precautions were a waste Of attention better given to more rewarding Evasions and pursuits. If so, And you take your place again As a distinct departure From your foreground and background, You should know it's possible For you to feel, after all, At the first step, at the first crack Out of the box, that lethal impact, That private personal blow marking your loss Of the light of day, the companionship Of the night, and the creature comforts of home As you become a member Of that other civilization spreading itself Around you, ready and able and still Called the natural world. From Volume 172, Number 2, May 1998 Copyright © The Poetry Foundation |