.
Ercall Wood Nature Reserve, near Arleston, Telford And Wrekin, Great Britain: photo by Bob Bowyer, 2003
Oh, so much stands in shadow, so little is understood; so many images wish to speak, so many voices have been misplaced; best intentions having left us behind, where to begin catching up, so late?
A Great Skua (Shetland dialect name "Bonxie") swoops to defend its nesting territory by the burn of Winnaswarta Dale, on Hermaness National Nature Reserve, Unst, Shetland: photo by John Dailly, 2002
Was it we who denatured nature, or was it merely following its own path, having its way with itself, regardless of us?
Before sunset, North Carolina: photo by Jacob Simon, 2007
Without having come to an edge, how shall we know when it has come time to turn a corner?
Once having separated things, and inserted an "and" between them, how shall we (re)discover their orders?
Is there any direction we can take, but to keep falling into it all?
Once having separated things, and inserted an "and" between them, how shall we (re)discover their orders?
Is there any direction we can take, but to keep falling into it all?
Reeds, Swan Lake Nature Study area, near Reno, Nevada: photo by Ragesoss, 2007
6 comments:
Tom,
Thanks for these lines from the middle of the night -- yes, "so much stands in shadow," "separated things . . . an 'and' inserted between them" . . . .
4.19
grey-white of cloud above shadowed green
ridge, red-tailed hawk calling on branch
in foreground, waves sounding in channel
has to do with what happens,
means “coming to pass”
an ordinary absence, looked
after, and once again
cloudless blue sky reflected in channel,
line of pelicans gliding toward horizon
This poem speaks to me very clearly and directly and helped reset the coordinates of my internal navigation machinery this Monday morning. I brought a copy to my rendez-vous with The Cloud and his chums at the romantically named Merion Cricket Club. Having the poem with me, while being informed that People + Process = Profits, reminded me a little of that Frank O’Hara poem, A Step Away From Them.
A word of special thanks: Beyond The Pale has completely cured me of a bad early morning television habit, which simply left me enervated. Now mornings are silent again (before the 7 am dog walk) and a little more lucid, which I attribute to the poetry and the always entertaining and enlightening commentary of the host and participants.
Stephen, Curtis, many thanks for the lifeline of intelligence.
"An ordinary absence" all around us, these days, without depth, without coordinates, into which it seems we cannot help but fall.
"A Step Away from Them," ah yes, but still the question remains -- in which direction, if, as it increasingly seems, They are everywhere?
There will
always
be questions
to
answers untold.
There will
always
be answers
to questions
needless.
What shall we do Tom??
Let's keep falling into it all
Well, I suppose I must have imagined those reeds as offering a soft landing, Otto.
(But who am I trying to kid? Soft landings are reserved for the kind of stories I've never been able to stay with to the end... so yes, let's just try to milk the descent yet awhile.)
So that's what we'll do, Aditya.
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