Category: Poetics
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“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language And next year’s words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning.” ~ T.S. Eliot
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“[But the man who comes back through the Door in the Wall will never be quite the same as the man who went out.] He will be wiser but less cocksure, happier but less self-satisfied, humbler in acknowledging his ignorance yet better equipped to understand the relationship of words to things, of systematic reasoning to…
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“People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that’s bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they’re afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us…
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What if the universe is an open wound, a catastrophe in making? What then? Do we snuggle within the voids between the stars? Do we build our homes in the shambling ruins of dead quasars? Mapping the desire of dust swirling in the bright structures of far nebulae? How should we think the thought of…
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Beauty, midnight, vision dies: Let the winds of dawn that blow Softly round your dreaming head Such a day of welcome show Eye and knocking heart may bless, Find the mortal world enough; Noons of dryness find you fed By the involuntary powers, Nights of insult let you pass Watched by every human love.
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To confront fact in its total bleakness is for any poet a completely baffling experience. Reality is not the thing but the aspect of the thing. At first reading, this poem has an extraordinarily factual appearance. But it is, after all, an abstraction. Mr. [H.D.] Lewis says [in his essay, On Poetic Truth] that for…
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There were days—there were many days—these words could burn stars… and raise up empires… and topple gods. ~ The Doctor
