poems and photographs 426
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another poem and photograph every weekday. Or so.
(photographs: Tom Davis)
Thursday, April 13, 2017
love is one of many great fires
Love is apart from all things.
Desire and excitement are nothing beside it.
It is not the body that finds love.
What leads us there is the body.
Love is one of many great fires.
Passion is a fire made of many woods,
each of which gives off its special odor
so we can know the many kinds
that are not love. Passion is the paper
and twigs that kindle the flames
but cannot sustain them. Desire perishes
because it tries to be love.
Love is eaten away by appetite.
Love does not last, but it is different
from the passions that do not last.
Love lasts by not lasting.
Isaiah said each man walks in his own fire
for his sins. Love allows us to walk
in the sweet music of our particular heart.
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
Half the day lost, staring
at this window. I wanted to know
just one true thing
about the soul, but I left thinking
for thought, and now -
two inches of snow have fallen
over the meadow. Where did I go,
how long was I out looking
for you?, who would never leave me,
my withness, my here.
Kate Knapp Johnson, The Meadow
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
I am not lazy.
I am on the amphetamine of the soul.
I am, each day,
typing out the God
my typewriter believes in.
Very quick. Very intense,
like a wolf at a live heart.
When a lazy man, they say,
looks toward heaven,
the angels close the windows.
keep the windows open
so that I may reach in
and steal each object,
objects that tell me the sea is not dying,
objects that tell me the dirt has a life-wish,
that the Christ who walked for me,
walked on true ground
and that this frenzy,
like bees stinging the heart all morning,
will keep the angels
with their windows open,
wide as an English bathtub.
Anne Sexton, Frenzy
Monday, April 10, 2017
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
From Wallace Stevens, Thirteen ways of looking at a blackbird
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