No birds. No blossoms on the dried flowers.
Originally Posted by Golias
Since this poem is being read but not commented upon I will carry the weeping theme on for a few weeks and see if anyone has anything to contribute to a discussion of pessimistic versus optimistic . In my reading experience the former seems to prevail. Why? Are a majority of poets sad people? Is is misery more poetic than happiness? ------Golias
The manes of night’s horses are translucent.
An empty boat drifts on the naked river.
Lost among grasshoppers the word is raving mad.
According to Mandelstam poetry is, among other things, recollection and the establishment of a "continuity of the present and the past".(Freidin) What has been, what is, what can be all make their claims on the poet. The question is strange if you believe that the poetic itself is thicker in the night of these claims than in the day of conscious crafting . Some recollections are sad. Some spells are dark. Others are the counterweight to keep us from tipping over into the abyss. But tipping over into the Polyannic is more delusion than recollection. Butterfly barns establish their domes upon the cruelty and misery of pig farms or they never rise at all and remain only a brief mumble from a blindfolded serenity.
I don't like doom-erbatng anymore than ostrich odes. I think the poem written should be the one that demands to be born. Passion selective abortion as ars poetica? Meh....
And I was alive in the blizzard of the blossoming pear,
Myself I stood in the storm of the bird–cherry tree.
It was all leaflife and starshower, unerring, self–shattering
And it was all aimed at me. O.M. (trs. Wiman)