Ever
Standing in the meadow with the brilliant
Sun sliding overhead
From rim to rim of the broad bowl of sky
It will drop over the lip and
Darkness will rise up like a spray
To rinse the world of its tired dust
In a colander of stars
You say this will happen again
But it will never happen again
Quite like this
In this way you see the days and nights
Unfold ahead of you
An endless path spiraling out
And you are only ever taking
This step
First
Sun sliding overhead
From rim to rim of the broad bowl of sky
It will drop over the lip and
Darkness will rise up like a spray
To rinse the world of its tired dust
In a colander of stars
You say this will happen again
But it will never happen again
Quite like this
In this way you see the days and nights
Unfold ahead of you
An endless path spiraling out
And you are only ever taking
This step
First
posted by MB at 9:23 AM
20 Comments:
I love the image of the "broad bowl of the sky" and that of a "colander of stars." Beautiful from start to finish.
how gorgeous!
MB, I've returned to read this poem several times. Your bowl and colander images are effective because they startle slightly. And I really like the last two stanzas - beautiful. And all this before 9.30am! I don't know how you do it ....
A celestial banquet.
Nothing to say, except superb. I've read a few times over the course of the day, and love this poem more each time.
Beautiful! Thank you!!!
alan
Frankie, I can imagine you out on that meadow. In bare feet, of course. It's a good space.
Anne, thank you.
Mary, I appreciate your comment: I hesitated, while writing this, to use those images for fear they'd be too odd. But sometimes I find it's the familiar in an unusual placement that works.
Oh, whiskey, thank you. And welcome, welcome. (And here I thought I might've relegated myself to the scullery after that colander bit!)
Brenda, I know I love it when I find something I want to revisit during the day. Something you've done for me before, of course.
Alan, thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed the poem. Good to have you here.
"Juste ce jour,
Je veux me dissoudre dans
Le gris sans fin du ciel,
Je veux courir comme le bidon de sève
Sous des fleuves d'écorce d'arbre,
Je veux me remplier à l'intérieur du
Queue plume et ondulante d'un écureuil.
Juste ce jour,
Je veux suivre le vent
Sur ses manières
Autour des roches et
Parmi des grains du sable,
Glissade par des branches d'arbre
Et hérissez l'aile d'un oiseau."
J'adore ce texte , vous écrivez très très bien .
Je m'imagine bien suivant le vent ....
Jean... moi aussi, moi aussi: c'est une idee qui m'arrive souvent. Je dois dire que la poeme va bien en francais aussi! Vous avez de facilite pour la traduction. Merci.
...For those of you who don't speak French, Jean just translated the first two stanzas of "Sitting at the foot of the hill" into French. I must say, it works well in that language. He did a smooth job of translation.
just stopping by and loving your words as ever...
Ruth, thank you for letting me know.
Lying on the ground in the summer, sliding through a bowl, yes, that is how it feels.
Yeah, and not unlike that big blue bowl trimmed with black and stars...
You say this happen again, it will never happen again like this, the immeadiacy of the moment, that second that you hold in your hand
Powerful ending!
Yes. I love this.
Sue, you nailed it.
Jackal, I'm grateful that you found it so.
qb, welcome! Thanks for reading.
Good going! This is my kind of poem, philosophical, zenlike.
I don't always find it easy to write philosophically. I think it's easiest to write concretely. I'm glad you liked it.
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