Three Poems by Wendell BerryrnTo a Writer of Reputation In Art Rowanberry’s BarnrnHaving begun in public anonymih’,rnyou did not count on thisrnliterary enterprise by whichrnsome body becomes a “name” —rnas if you have died and have becomerna part of mere geography. Greet,rntherefore, the roadsigns on the road.rnOr perhaps you have become deaf and blind,rnor merely inanimate, and mayrnbe studied without embarrassmentrnby the disinterested, the dispassionate,rnand the merely curious,rnnot fearing to be overheard.rnHello to the grass, then, and to the trees.rnOr perhaps you are secretlyrnsHll alert and moving, no longer the onernthey have named, but another,rnnamed by yourself,rncarrying away this morning’s showersrnfor your private delectation.rnHello, river.rnThe Rejected HusbandrnAfter the storm and the newrnstillness of the snow, he returnsrnto the graveyard, as thoughrnhe might turn back the white coverlet,rnslip in beside her as he used to do,rnand again feel, beneath his hand,rnher flesh quicken and turn warm.rnBut he is not her husband now.rnTo participate in resurrection, onernfirst must be dead. And he goesrnback into the whitened world, alive.rnIn Art Rowanberry’s barn, when Art’s deathrnhad become quietly a fact amongrnthe other facts, Andy Catiett foundrna jacket made of the top halfrnof a pair of coveralls afterrnthe legs wore out, for Artrnnever wasted anything.rnAndy found a careful box madernof woodscraps with a straprnfor a handle; it containedrna handful of small nailsrnwrapped in a piece of newspaper,rnseveral large nails, severalrnrust’ bolts with nuts and washers,rnsome old harness bucklesrnand rings, rusty but usable,rnseveral small metal boxes, empty,rnand three hickory nutsrnhollowed out by mice.rnAnd all of these things Andyrnput back where they had been,rnfor time and the world and other peoplernto dispense with as they might,rnbut not bv him to be disprized.rnThis long putting awayrnof things maybe useful was not allrnof Art’s care-taking; he caredrnfor creatures also, every dayrnleaving his tracks in dust, mudrnor snow as he went aboutrnlooking after his stock, or gavernstrength to lighten a neighbor’s work.rnAndy found a bridle madernof several lengths of baling twinernknotted to a rusty bit,rnan old set of chain harness,rnfour horseshoes of different sizes,rnand three hammerstones picked uprnfrom the opened furrow on daysrnnow as perfectly forgottenrnas the days when they were lost.rnHe found a good farrier’s knife,rnan awl, a kev to a lockrnthat would no longer open.rn30/CHRONICLESrnrnrn