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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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“
Yes
,
yes
,
”
he
exclaimed
,
“
I
can
see
it
all
.
The
desert
,
the
mountains
,
all
wild
,
primordial
,
untamed
.
How
I
should
have
loved
to
have
been
with
you
.
Then
,
perhaps
,
I
should
have
got
hold
of
my
idea
.
”
“
Your
idea
?
”
“
The
great
poem
of
the
West
.
It
’
s
that
which
I
want
to
write
.
Oh
,
to
put
it
all
into
hexameters
;
strike
the
great
iron
note
;
sing
the
vast
,
terrible
song
;
the
song
of
the
People
;
the
forerunners
of
empire
!
”
Vanamee
understood
him
perfectly
.
He
nodded
gravely
.
“
Yes
,
it
is
there
.
It
is
Life
,
the
primitive
,
simple
,
direct
Life
,
passionate
,
tumultuous
.
Yes
,
there
is
an
epic
there
.
”
Presley
caught
at
the
word
.
It
had
never
before
occurred
to
him
.
“
Epic
,
yes
,
that
’
s
it
.
It
is
the
epic
I
’
m
searching
for
.
And
HOW
I
search
for
it
.
You
don
’
t
know
.
It
is
sometimes
almost
an
agony
.
Often
and
often
I
can
feel
it
right
there
,
there
,
at
my
finger
-
tips
,
but
I
never
quite
catch
it
.
It
always
eludes
me
.
I
was
born
too
late
.
Ah
,
to
get
back
to
that
first
clear
-
eyed
view
of
things
,
to
see
as
Homer
saw
,
as
Beowulf
saw
,
as
the
Nibelungen
poets
saw
.
The
life
is
here
,
the
same
as
then
;
the
Poem
is
here
;
my
West
is
here
;
the
primeval
,
epic
life
is
here
,
here
under
our
hands
,
in
the
desert
,
in
the
mountain
,
on
the
ranch
,
all
over
here
,
from
Winnipeg
to
Guadalupe
.
It
is
the
man
who
is
lacking
,
the
poet
;
we
have
been
educated
away
from
it
all
.
We
are
out
of
touch
.
We
are
out
of
tune
.
”
Vanamee
heard
him
to
the
end
,
his
grave
,
sad
face
thoughtful
and
attentive
.
Then
he
rose
.
“
I
am
going
over
to
the
Mission
,
”
he
said
,
“
to
see
Father
Sarria
.
I
have
not
seen
him
yet
.
”
