Mark Strand




The Students of the Ineffable

What I am about to say happened years ago. I had rented a house 
by the sea. Each night I sat on the porch and wished for some 
surge of feeling, some firelit stream of sound to lead me away 
from all that I had known. But one night, I climbed the hill behind 
the house and looked down on a small dirt road where I was sur-
prised to see long lines of people shuffling into the distance. Their 
difficult breathing and their coughing were probably caused by 
the cloud of dust their march had created. “Who are you and why 
is this happening?” I asked one of them. “We are believers and 
must keep going”, and then he added, “our work is important 
and concerns the self.” “But all your dust is darkening the stars,” I said. 
“Nay, nay,” he said, “we are only passing through, the stars will 
return.”