I had this thought a while ago,
"My darling cannot understand
What I have done, or what would do
In this blind bitter land."
And I grew weary of the sun
Until my thoughts cleared up again,
Remembering that the best I have done
Was done to make it plain;
That every year I have cried, "At length
My darling understands it all,
Because I have come into my strength,
And words obey my call';
That had she done so who can say
What would have shaken from the sieve?
I might have thrown poor words away
And been content to live.
3 comments:
well lets thank all the sadness we need to, that ol' wb never gave up words
Self-Portrait With Whiskey & Pistol (by Jay Hopler from “Green Squall”)
1
Of all the things this day turned out to be, a celebration of me
was not one of them.
2
Maybe if I surrounded myself with prostitutes and strippers, my
celibacy would feel less like a lack and more like an act
Of heroic self-denial.
3
My life and I live in the trees and share a tail.
4
Our stomach turns its peach pit to the moon!
5
Even if it’s true, what they say, that love is never a waste of time
No matter how impossible the object,
You wouldn’t know it from living.
On this street.
6
How disappointing it all is!
The lemon trees, the banyan trees, the sky—
How disappointing it all is.
7
Look, the Great Poet of solitude is pruning his roses!
(Even the way he does nothing is monstrous.)
8
O birds! O birds! Be not stingy with thy feathers white, I am
washing my hands!
9
Cloudy or not, here I come –
Often I have Encountered the Evil of Living (by Eugenio Montale, from "Ossi di seppia")
Often I have encountered the evil of living:
it was the strangled stream which gurgles,
it was the crumpling sound of the dried out
leaf, it was the horse weaty and exhausted.
The good I knew not, other than the miracle
revealed by divine Indifference:
it was the statue in the slumber
of the afternoon, and the cloud, and the high flying falcon.
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