There was a moment of unretainable
silence. The light paused, a girl
walked her Dalmatian, and I heard
the tinkle of its collar a hundred yards away.
There was long lifting of trees. The orange
fire of oaks, shingling the world in fine beauty
they choose so easily to forget. A golden-bellied
bird chased its song around in a dark bush.
And I thought of all the song, the half-born praise
in me, Lord, that you somehow keep for yourself.
10.09
Some Relevant Knowledge
Freedom.
Of all our souls from the burden of being
As I watch, catching her ecstasy in writhing sea,
Deep groans in the hull and a raging westerly.
--Luke Irwin
Also: A poem from Auden that seems to come out of my own memory. I think instantly of the Belz's yard. And summer.
Out on the lawn I lie in bed,
Vega conspicuous overhead
In the windless nights of June
As congregated leaves complete
Their day's activity; my feet
Point to the rising moon...
Equal with colligues in a ring
I sit on each calm evening
Enchanted as the flowers
The opening light draws out of hiding
With all its gradual dove-like pleading,
Its logic and its powers:
That later we, though parted then,
May still recall these evenings when
Fear gave his watch no look;
The lion griefs loped from the shade
And on our knees their muzzles laid,
And death put down his book.
Of all our souls from the burden of being
As I watch, catching her ecstasy in writhing sea,
Deep groans in the hull and a raging westerly.
--Luke Irwin
Also: A poem from Auden that seems to come out of my own memory. I think instantly of the Belz's yard. And summer.
Out on the lawn I lie in bed,
Vega conspicuous overhead
In the windless nights of June
As congregated leaves complete
Their day's activity; my feet
Point to the rising moon...
Equal with colligues in a ring
I sit on each calm evening
Enchanted as the flowers
The opening light draws out of hiding
With all its gradual dove-like pleading,
Its logic and its powers:
That later we, though parted then,
May still recall these evenings when
Fear gave his watch no look;
The lion griefs loped from the shade
And on our knees their muzzles laid,
And death put down his book.
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