Take away the competition itself
Who’s got the biggest dick
Who can get it most excited
Then life is an exercise of sifting
“Diving on the wreck”
Looking at all the evidence
Taking into account the above…
Comparing it with your own
Awesome loving experience
And doing the best you may
Meanwhile Mother Nature in metaphor
Will be making her own judgement
On your elocution
Whatever, you are already sentenced,
Two of my favourite poets, Yeats and RS Thomas. It’s not known whether this was a real or imagined event. Thomas often travelled on the Holyhead train, as did Yeats. They were contemporary, both passionate about their Celtic culture. Both, in my humble opinion, shared the same muse.
The rail rhythm of the first two lines is simple and stunning. And ‘In mutual silence closer than lover knit’ my favourite line in poetry… and life. This is not necessarily, however, the view of my own muse… the missus.
Memories of Yeats while Travelling to Holyhead
How often he went on this journey, think of it, think of it:
The metrical train, the monosyllabic sea,
The listening hilltops, aloof and resentful of strangers.
Who would have refrained from addressing him here, not discerning
The embryonic poem still coiled in the ivory skull?
Boredom or closeness of age might have prompted, his learning
Concealed by his tweed and the azure, ecstatic tie;
But who would have sensed the disdain of his slow reply
Of polite acquiescence in their talk of the beautiful?
Who would have guessed the futility even of praising
Mountain and marsh and the delicate, flickering tree
To one long impervious and cold to the outward scene,
Heedless of nature’s baubles, lost in the amazing
And labyrinth paths of his own impenetrable mind?
But something in the hair’s fine silver, the breadth of brow,
Had kept me dumb, too shy of his scornful anger
To presume to pierce the dark, inscrutable glasses,
His first defence against a material world.
Yet alone with him in the indifferent compartment, hurled
Between the waves’ white audience, the earth’s dim screen,
In mutual silence closer than lover knit
I had known reality dwindle, the dream begin.
RS Thomas’s homage to Yeats
I need only air, water, food and love
I want to keep my ideas free
from the pull of popularity
from the machinations of material success
But please I beg you don’t take me at my word
Don’t leave me between my lines, untested, intestate
Use your instincts and no rationale
To resist and relieve me from a selfish wont
I’m relying on you to understand
My base need
Your shared responsibility
To satisfy my lack of greed
image by Shapeless C
Enjoying a holiday in the med, watching serene Santorini sunsets. Enjoying all those beautiful sensations of the Mediterranean; sun-dried tomatoes, olives, capers, bougainvillea, fig trees, pistachios, worldwide scents and suntan lotion floating on the warm breeze. Not having to write much as this is a living meditation but enjoying some great reading on WP, and this poem by Nicole Lyons in particular:
“This is the place where I have come undone,
and I walk softly around the edge of it.”
It sums up human life on Earth, well mine at least.
A Road Less Travelled
It may concern
and even those it doesn’t
in the middle has to be a heart
Gravity acts on everyone
whoever and wherever
they can be squashed
into a mass
has it ever occurred to you
that you’re held in contempt
because you are contemptible?
You Ozymandias have declared yourself
outside the realm of normal men
you who had greatness thrust down at you
they the bearers of your good estate
outside the realm of normal doubts or cares
they who were deprived by your gain
they who are now deceived by lack of wit
they who are not revolting as you declare
but, supportive of your myth, they do not dare
but be submissive, contrive to leave you as Percy said
Buried, all together, just as dead