Writing To Miss Dickinson
The motivation in art is always the same, to renew contact
with the world, to maintain a creative flow between the inner
and outer worlds, to have them, in fact, one.
John Haines
Light is the symbol of truth.
James Russell Lowell
My window too frames the view, as though
It knows that to take it all in would be
More than we can completely apprehend.
A late summer evening, not in Amherst
Where you look out thinking tell all the truth
But tell it slant, I sense it too, here, how
We best see things obliquely, how at dawn
And dusk light slants rather than pierces
Through the pines, bending around them,
Shadows softer and only the edges are lit.
At one edge of the frame are maples, not yet
Making their own light, wind-blown seeds
In hedgerow bramble and blackberry thorns;
And in the corner a white feather fluttering
In a spider web, brushstrokes of shimmer.
Under the pine trees a yellow finch so delicate
It seems nothing more than a dab of color,
Light-glint in shadow, weightless as a butterfly.
All these years to tell you that you were right,
That however closed in we are by our solitude,
There is equally and always another side of it;
That in looking out there is also an entering,
Knowing that we become part of what we see,
Not one glaring view but each thing in its light.
Truth must dazzle gradually or every man be blind.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2015-07-25 at 15:43
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