A windblown beach becomes a scene of restless, almost hypnotic motion. The speaker watches dry sand swept across the shore, shaped into shifting labyrinths and dancing dunes, and feels the pull to join that wild energy. He imagines running with the sand, gathering it greedily, wriggling like a snake over the beaches, and lying curled in sleep while the wind chases him inland. The mood is both desolate and ecstatic: there is loneliness in the “sad wind” and empty strand, but also a strange joy in surrendering to the landscape. By the end, the speaker’s own breath seems to become the music of the mad wind—shrill, drunken, ragged—until human presence and sand, voice and weather, blur together into one long whistling sound down the beaches.
Irradiations XVII — Summary
The wind that drives the fine dry sand Across the strand: The sad wind spinning arabesques With a wrinkled hand.
Labyrinths of shifting sand, The dancing dunes!
I will arise and run with the sand, And gather it greedily in my hand: I will wriggle like a long yellow snake over the beaches. I will lie curled up, sleeping, And the wind shall chase me Far inland.
My breath is the music of the mad wind; Shrill piping, stamping of drunken feet, The fluttering, tattered broidery flung Over the dunes' steep escarpments.
The fine dry sand that whistles Down the long low beaches.