In a certain light we are not who we are. All that was false falls away. In that second space we see behind appearance, the time that generates time, the gaze before the gaze. Beyond the stones there is another reality, other orders of being. Sometimes, as in a dream, we are made aware of them co-existing with our own familiar way of seeing the world and we catch a glimpse of these other realms; we discern our name, reclaim the acts that are ours, and think to ourselves: this is our true reality, all else is shadows.
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Anything can happen.
Those overlooked regarded.
Ground gives.
The Heaven's weight
Lifts up off Atlas.
Capstones shift, nothing resettles right.
---Seamus Heaney.
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Maybe this other reality is locked into stone, inheres deep in the rock, like a black bird, captive but taking flight; maybe it is our gaze that has turned the world to stone, brought about its silence, when everything is flowing? The bird dreams of a star, catches its own reflection and now waits, age upon age, to be released...
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Looking close in the evil mirror Crow saw
Mistings of civilisation..
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Stone likewise. A pebble is imprisoned
Like nothing in the Universe.
Created for black sleep. Or growing
Conscious of the sun's red spot occasionally,
Then dreaming it is the foetus of God.
---Ted Hughes
-
-
Anything can happen.
Those overlooked regarded.
Ground gives.
The Heaven's weight
Lifts up off Atlas.
Capstones shift, nothing resettles right.
---Seamus Heaney.
-
-
Maybe this other reality is locked into stone, inheres deep in the rock, like a black bird, captive but taking flight; maybe it is our gaze that has turned the world to stone, brought about its silence, when everything is flowing? The bird dreams of a star, catches its own reflection and now waits, age upon age, to be released...
-
-
Looking close in the evil mirror Crow saw
Mistings of civilisation..
-
-
Stone likewise. A pebble is imprisoned
Like nothing in the Universe.
Created for black sleep. Or growing
Conscious of the sun's red spot occasionally,
Then dreaming it is the foetus of God.
---Ted Hughes
6 comments:
Celia said:
Billo, I think you might enjoy this little article about John Riley's poetry.
http://petersirr.blogspot.com/2007/03/john-riley.html
C
A stillness encompassing movement.
With enormous beauty still to answer to.
Blackness seeps through the closed door, douses the lamp.
It is a longing for the same world, and a different world.
John Riley
thanks c. It's hard to read poetry online though (now I realise!)
Like it. very simple. Elemental? Perhaps that's not the right word.
met an old unlce the other day who said that, strangely, there's no love poetry in the Japanese tradition.
Will not even bother looking for the book here. Maybe that way I will find it!
Danke.
b.
THERE’S a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons …
…When it comes, the landscape listens,
Shadows hold their breath;
When it goes, ’tis like the distance
On the look of death.
Emily Dickinson.
It's just that the title reminded me of Emily and there it was the poem! (The rest of it did not fit)
Did you know that Emily is easier to read online?
Astarte.
Thanks, astarte.
Great poem , or fragment of a poem.
Earlier, I wrote this
More narcissism, I hear you say!
Strange how I can hear voices when others only see a text :)
Keep well,
b.
or, since we're talking about slants:
b/K.
Narcissus was beautiful and he made the lake realize it’s own beauty! (legend: translated by C. Landers). So, if that’s the way you write, be a narcissist, it’s … beautiful.
I’ve been going through your earlier posts and it’s a good thing you pointed out two of them. Do you think you could make a list of your favourite posts and give a link on the main page? If it takes too much time, then please do re-post I for one think it’s a good idea.
Stay well b (b/K) (quite a formula, isn’t it?)
Astarte.
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