what is not there…
Robert Hass
To a Reader
I’ve watched memory wound you.
I felt nothing but envy.
Having slept in wet meadows,
I was not through desiring.
Imagine January and the beach,
a bleached sky, gulls. And
look seaward: what is not there
is there, isn’t it, the huge
bird of the first light
arched above first waters
beyond our touching or intention
or the reasonable shore.
4 comments:
Lovely.
Sam, you have such good taste in poetry I salivate at your posted gems. You caught Emily in an off rhyme (this/paradise) and Hass at his most poignant pitch. Good work, and unselfish as usual.
Things I've been meaning to say on your blog:
When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a saint. I wanted to be burned at the stake. I wanted to love god so much that roses would fall from the sky.
Frankenstein always makes me cry. King Kong, too.
The Hass poem brought a vivid image forth, of my father standing up in the ocean, just rising out of the waves. We poured his ashes into the Atlantic a few years ago. It gives me a good feeling to know he's out there turning over and over, going out with the tide then coming back in.
Even if I don't say a word, please know that your blog feeds me.
(The Hass poem is one I'd never read before. I'll definitely be tucking it in a pocket, keeping it with me, near at heart/hand/mind for the rest of my life.)
I appreciate your comments and your taking the time to read.
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