And it matters now most of all because it is over.
Put all your tears back into the pockets of your brain, put back The shadows and fevers, put away the stubborn impossible Flowers, the trembling, The not yet beaten-
The sudden is spent Without preparation,
Like a crescent of light that holds the moon in place.
And it matters now most of all.
We haul the ingenuity of our lives, In shapes of self that cannot keep pace.
The pain is such that we will have to wobble home Uncanny with bliss.
And we are better for it.
This sorrow is ample And bright as it is blue,
This sorrow is simple, Hardly here and hardly true.
And it matters now most of all.
Against this city smothered in machines That pretends it’s not a ghost.
Quite the poem, isn’t it, Bob.
A portuguese-language author whose name I can’t quite recall wrote something along these lines:
“I hold my destiny in my hands and yet I feel free to invent: I follow a hidden lethal line. I’m forced to search for a truth that goes beyond me”
That is perhaps an apt description for the emotional asperity here accited. Only perhaps. This is a most unjust thing. This thing. To make something of it, don’t you think? It fails so often. You have been writing marvellously, I wish I could appreciate it more.
Thank you João for the kind words. Yes, it is difficult. And the quote has much to say of that. And yes, it often fails. But that’s why we do it. “I follow a hidden lethal line.” Those words are sublime. I haven’t read much of Portuguese poets, except Pessoa. I think I need to change that.
Not Portuguese, but Portuguese-speaking. She is named Clarice Lispector, and that quote is from Hour of the Star; she is Brazilian, you see, and I do not wish to rob that from her, since it is ever-so important.
I sometimes remember lines of things but not who wrote them; sometimes authors without their lines. I did confirm the original text, however, and it is most definitely her.
You should read her. I think you’d very much like what she has to unsay.
some great lines here, Bob: the moon reference, of course — I am always alert to them — and that ingenious phrase: ‘wobble home uncanny with bliss’ 🙂 you have a febrile mind 🙂
Quite the poem, isn’t it, Bob.
A portuguese-language author whose name I can’t quite recall wrote something along these lines:
“I hold my destiny in my hands and yet I feel free to invent: I follow a hidden lethal line. I’m forced to search for a truth that goes beyond me”
That is perhaps an apt description for the emotional asperity here accited. Only perhaps. This is a most unjust thing. This thing. To make something of it, don’t you think? It fails so often. You have been writing marvellously, I wish I could appreciate it more.
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Thank you João for the kind words. Yes, it is difficult. And the quote has much to say of that. And yes, it often fails. But that’s why we do it. “I follow a hidden lethal line.” Those words are sublime. I haven’t read much of Portuguese poets, except Pessoa. I think I need to change that.
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Not Portuguese, but Portuguese-speaking. She is named Clarice Lispector, and that quote is from Hour of the Star; she is Brazilian, you see, and I do not wish to rob that from her, since it is ever-so important.
I sometimes remember lines of things but not who wrote them; sometimes authors without their lines. I did confirm the original text, however, and it is most definitely her.
You should read her. I think you’d very much like what she has to unsay.
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The hyphen did catch my eye, and I should have known that. Thank you for the recommendation, I will certainly be looking into her poetry.
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Gorgeous. And powerful. I love the last two lines. Well done!
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Thank you!
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Beautiful poem. Keep up the great work! 🤝
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Thank you!
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some great lines here, Bob: the moon reference, of course — I am always alert to them — and that ingenious phrase: ‘wobble home uncanny with bliss’ 🙂 you have a febrile mind 🙂
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Thank you so much John!
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“A crescent of light that holds the moon in place” beaaaautiful!
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Thank you Tanvi!
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