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Tuesday, 23 April 2013

"The green world thinks the sun..."


Study of the Sky at Sunset: Eugène Delacroix, 1849, pastel on grey paper, 190 x 240 mm (Musée du Louvre, Paris)

The green world thinks the sun
Into one flower, then outraces
It to the sea in sunken pipes.
But twisting in sleep to poetry
Their blood pumps its flares out
Of earth and scatters them. And
They become, when they shine on
Beauty to honor her, a part of
Her laconic azure, her façade.

Study of Sky: Setting Sun: Eugène Delacroix, c. 1849, pastel, 190 x 240 mm (Musée du Louvre, Paris)




"The green world thinks the sun" -- coming out of the trees above Stinson last night, I saw such a sun setting as Delacroix sees here, I think.


light coming into fog against invisible
ridge, shadowed bird standing on branch
in foreground, sound of wave in channel

experience relation between
thinking, thought and

thing in mind, in its place
memory, say from that

silver circle of sun rising above ridge,
cloudless blue sky to the left of point

Nora said...

I love this poem.

Nin Andrews said...

As always, this is beautiful

Wooden Boy said...

The sunken pipes and the flares bring to mind an evening watching the flares from llandarcy Oil Refinery from the Mumbles, the sunset very beautiful.

Her laconic azure, her facade: no naked nature here or tricks of authenticity; she's veiled or disguised.

Wooden Boy said...

That first Delacroix...

Marie W said...

What a wonderful poem. For some reason, reading this I see myself sitting in the plant physiology lecture room, years ago, being very bored and absolutely uninterested. These words tell me more and evoke more than any scientific lecture could ever do.
The green world thinks the sun,
Into one flower
... a whole world in these words.

vazambam (Vassilis Zambaras) said...

“The green world thinks the sun
Into one flower”—

Hard to think of one putting together a more
Concentrated image than this one—
Pure poetic photosynthesis .

TC said...

Yes, this seems to have had to do with physiology.

Plant physiology (poetry in slow motion) among other kinds.

Beauty appears to have been (dare one say it without seeming overfamiliar) a person.

Oh I do love that upstairs Delacroix.