Ich ruf zu Dir Herr, Jesu Christ, BWV 639, J. S. Bach from Lalentituddelosgramófonos on Vimeo.
Time will make you..or it won't. You find yourself in fallen, failing light. All the mystery is in the here and now. This cloth, woven from green and red, gold and green. Each thing has its season. And now is winter.
4 comments:
A quote? Or your words?
My words but there's, i think, some Wordsworth buried in there.
For this soul needs to be honoured with a new dress woven
From green and blue things and arguments that cannot be proven.
Dear b, Why not admit it? You are a poet. That's your forte and the world you actually inhabit. The 'real world', the one where we all have to meet the expectations of our situation, fulfil our obligations, earn money, relate to family and colleagues: that is the illusory world. Write more poems, send them to some of the publishers of small poetry magazines (I know plenty), invent a pen-name if you feel you must.
Next time I'm going to quote you a poem by John Freeman called 'Plato's Peach', in a book of his poems of that title, but I've lent it to someone and am waiting for its return.
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