Page 54

By Jack Joseph Smith

Even There isn't even one low line drawn that makes us even As a child I have seen the finest waterfalls and streams, and knew them without expression, that nothing was even The Moon and the Sun they are still the same to us, are never ever even, falling Peables and stones as seamen too, walk with you, make thought, even as you get Chrilden always see to yourself I am an aristract, who wished something could have been done about it Many a bear I've seen just at one time Memory is more than just a dream Leaving things go is a mistake While passing things on is good If at equal time we were always fifty feet above Would we not always know we were crawling through grass and concrete, even

Original Scan

AI Interpretation

GPT

Waterfalls, streams, Sun, Moon, memory, and inheritance widen the poem into a meditation on what remains while human life crawls through grass and concrete.

The speaker recalls knowing waterfalls and streams as a child without finding anything even. Moon and Sun remain the same to us but are never even, falling. The distinction between letting things go and passing them on leads to a question about equal time and seeing ourselves crawl through grass and concrete.

Claude

'Even' plays on its title word: 'There isn't even one low line drawn that makes us even', and the Moon and the Sun 'are never ever even, falling'. The speaker recalls seeing 'the finest waterfalls and streams' as a child, calls himself 'an aristract, / who wished something could have been done about it', says 'Leaving things go is a mistake / While passing things on is good', and asks whether, 'at equal time' fifty feet above, we would 'know we were crawling / through grass and concrete, even'.

The poem keeps turning 'even' between level, equal and emphatic senses, testing whether anything in nature or memory is balanced. Its long typed lines are loosely argued, moving from childhood landscape to advice about memory and inheritance. The closing image of an elevated view reveals human life as crawling, and the handwritten final 'even' returns the poem to its title.