April Poem #4

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By Tom Clark from Sleepwalker’s Fate

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April Poem #3

Remembering Forgetting

 

I

From “Little Gidding

Part V, stanza II

 

With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this calling

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time

Through the unknown, remembered gate

When the last of earth left to discover

Is that which was the beginning;

At the source of the longest river

The voice of the hidden waterfall

And the children in the apple-tree

Not known, because not looked for

But heard, half-hearted, in the stillness

Between two waves of the sea

Quick now, here, now, always —

A condition of complete simplicity

(Costing not less than everything)

And all shall be well and

When the tongues of flame are in-folded

Into the crowned knot of fire

and the fire and the rose are one.

–T. S. Eliot

from Four Quartets

 

II

Life is a maze with doors and they all open from the side your on:

keep on pushing hard, boy, try as you may,

you’re gonna wind up where you started from.

 

 

III

 

“I really enjoy forgetting. When I first come to a place, I notice all the little details. I notice the way the sky looks. The color of white paper. The way people walk. Doorknobs. Everything. Then I get used to the place and I don’t notice those things anymore. So only by forgetting can I see the place again as it really is.”

 

David Byrne

From the movie “True Stories”

Posted in All part of the process, Being Human, discovery and recovery, hidden places, mindworks, music, my museum of inspiration, Other peoples words, paying attention, philosophy, poetry, Singing, the end is the beginning, thinking in words, whereever you go there you are | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

April Poem #2

End of the Day

 

In the long evening of April through the cool light

         Baille’s two sheep dogs sail down the lane like magpies

for the flock a moment before he appears near the oaks

         a stub of a man rolling as he approaches

smiling and smiling and his dogs are afraid of him

         we stand among the radiant stones looking out across

green lucent wheat and earth combed red under bare walnut limbs

         bees hanging late in cowslips and lingering bird cherry

stumps and brush that had been the grove of hazel trees

         where the land turns above the draped slopes and the valley

with its one sunbeam and we exchange a few questions

         as thought nothing were different but he has bulldozed the upland

pastures and shepherds huts into piles of rubble

         and has his sheep fenced in everyone’s meadows now

smell of box and damp leaves drifts from the woods where a blackbird

          is warning of nightfall and Baille has plans now to demolish

the ancient walls of the lane and level it wide

          so that trucks can go all the way down to where the lambs

with perhaps two weeks to live are waiting for him at the wire

          he hurried toward them as the sun sinks and the hour

turns chill as iron and in the oaks the first nightingales

          of the year kindle their unapproachable voices

 

By W. S. Merwin 

from “The Vixen”

Posted in Being Human, capturing light, change, conversations, delusions of progress, my museum of inspiration, Other peoples words, paying attention, poetry, spring, Walking | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

April Poem #1

 Calendar Note for a Sunday in April

 Up late for church

Wrote a poem

Made dinner

Walk at dusk:

soft light fading into night

swallows and bats

 shadows swooping

overhead

Posted in capturing light, Lazy daze, My Art, NaPoWriMo, poetry, spring, Walking, Wild Life | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

One Crazy Coot

Just look into the blood red eye and gaze upon that fantastic leafy foot and the brilliant whiteness of its bill. Then there is the sound of squeeze toy seemingly from out of nowhere.

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Images of March after the Snow.

This gallery contains 13 photos.

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Snowed In Monday

Take it slowly,

no rush.

The snow will wait.

Work will wait,

Now that I have called.

Eventually I will rouse

myself and face the task

of clearing the lazy snow

from behind my car tires

and crawl toward a day

of other people’s cares.

Meanwhile, I slowly

make progress toward

action.

Posted in All part of the process, Lazy daze, my life, paying attention, poetry, winter, working world | Tagged , | Leave a comment