Started knitting again, every fall, the first lines I stitch are disasters. I go for ribbing, I get popcorn, I get unnameable things. I thought about unwinding but have decided to leave the mistakes as a testament to fallibility, as if I need any reminders.
The post title comes from Amy Lowell, who won a Pulitzer for her poetry posthumously, who was as enormous as a boulder and as awesome. I look forward to reading more of her work. She strikes me as someone who might have really appreciated Buddhism, from the little I've read it seems she really wanted to relieve her consciousness crowded with heaps of the same. The poem below is called The Starling.
"'I can't get out', said the starling."
Sterne's `Sentimental Journey'.
Forever the impenetrable wall
Of self confines my poor rebellious soul,
I never see the towering white clouds roll
Before a sturdy wind, save through the small
Barred window of my jail. I live a thrall
With all my outer life a clipped, square hole,
Rectangular; a fraction of a scroll
Unwound and winding like a worsted ball.
My thoughts are grown uneager and depressed
Through being always mine, my fancy's wings
Are moulted and the feathers blown away.
I weary for desires never guessed,
For alien passions, strange imaginings,
To be some other person for a day.
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4 comments:
Welcome back.
Sometimes I think the world wishes it could abandon pansapience for a day and enjoy a tiny wee soul view.
ulolitist: one who has acquired proficiency in ulology, the study of ululation. see: howlmesiter
I will strive for ulolitism! You know, I think I know what the world wants. It wants me to take a nap.
BTW Kenmeer, you are especially equipped to elaborate on an idea I read recently, Meister Eckhardt, "The eye with which I see God is the same eye with which God sees me. What do you say?
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