I want to send you off to the weekend in the joy of good words, and the better silence before and between and after them. I want to send you off with some of the sounds that paint the world in consonants and vowels. So on Fridays, I’ll ramble a bit, and share a poem I’ve found and loved throughout the week.
So, my rambling:
Where did you go?
Russia, in summer.
I drank and prayed against cool marble, tattered flags rippled like ghosts.
Kentucky in late May,
stung by bees and swarmed by banjos.
Antarctica in the heat of a broken heart,
sweetly cold and quiet.
A thousand places, and none.
I am always and never here,
flung through life, set free
to wander, lost, away.
But if you asked, Russia
or Kentucky or Antarctica with my bleeding heart
were the same:
And a poem for your weekend, from Theodore Roethke:
In a Dark TimeIn a dark time, the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
I hear my echo in the echoing wood–
A lord of nature weeping to a tree,
I live between the heron and the wren,
Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.What’s madness but nobility of soul
At odds with circumstance? The day’s on fire!
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweating wall,
That place among the rocks–is it a cave,
Or winding path? The edge is what I have.
A steady storm of correspondences!
A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,
And in broad day the midnight come again!
A man goes far to find out what he is–
Death of the self in a long, tearless night,
All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.
Dark,dark my light, and darker my desire.
My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?
A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.
The mind enters itself, and God the mind,
And one is One, free in the tearing wind.