Take a few tunes in the street
to comfort you. Past a leaning light, into the dusky luminous grass,
voyage by footpaths into your unknown self.
By this tune, craft to pure light that
boy with girlish features you’ve seen,
bless to weightlessness the flight of rooks
fished from the sky by a worm’s wriggle.
As they descend like shaken bells in unmediated
music, catch an angle of meaning, like
the weight of a late fruit making a branch bend.
Go out in the park, open up your hand.
10.20.09
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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