Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Tired

Feel sort of achy today. But the morning is bright and only touched with a faint film of dust. The breeze even has a cooling tinge to it.

The small sparrows are bouncing around, dashing about, tilting their small heads like they've never seen people before. Like they are at some zoo, and we are the ones to be observed and pondered at...They are probably wondering if we fly.

I can't seem to find the effort to make it to a computer to write recently, but there is a short verse of poetry I wanted to add here. It is from TE Lawrence, and was in the opening to his book "Seven Pillars of Wisdom". I read it a long while ago, and came across the poem again recently.

"I loved you, so I drew these tides of men into my hands
and wrote my will across the sky in stars..."


Wonder if he was a man looking for himself, tossed between time and cultures, what was he seeking, and did he even know. I wonder - We do not know what we seek, yet we are able to find the excuses to go searching.
Perhaps we are all like that on a smaller scale, drifting across our own small and self-made planets. Some are lush, some like barren and grey winter deserts.
Trying to make a difference. I will seek some solace in coffee.

3 comments:

David M said...

The Thunder Run has linked to this post in the blog post From the Front: 09/24/2008 News and Personal dispatches from the front and the home front.

Arthur said...

To Army Poet:

I appreciate your writing. Do you know this poem by Wallace Stevens? For me it expresses bleakness but with a hopeful attitude; that we aren't individuals searching separately and differently but we are part of everything and become everything.

Be Well

The Snow Man

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

army poet said...

Thanks Arthur!

I have read some Wallace Stevens but that was really generous anf thoughtful of you to leave that poem! Remember reading him in college.
Theodore Roethke (sp) has some good work too..."I knew a woman once, lovely in her bones"...or something like that.

best, Army Poet