from BARDO

The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.

Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made

is star-stuff too?

– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –

dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.

Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.

Roselle Angwin

Saturday, 24 September 2011

apples, time and poetry...

A minor miracle has happened. The Man, for whom (like a large proportion of the English nation according to polls) nothing touches Kipling's 'If' (though he concedes that T S Eliot's poetry is 'quite good'), has discovered his Inner Poet.

We were lounging in autumn sun under a huge oak on the banks of the Dart yesterday celebrating my birthday. I glanced at him and caught a sober face. 'You feeling sad? Or just thoughtful?'

He reflected a minute. 'All thought is longing for the infinite,' he said. 'So thought has sadness deep within it.'

What can I say? – Except that rhyme is catching... And given that little problem with Time's Arrow that I mentioned in yesterday's post, who knows which of us (Kipling, me, TM) caught it from whom?

No comments:

Post a Comment

Blog Archive