hikingWell, was supposed to go hiking today in Connecticut, but it stormed all night, and apparently it's still raining there. May try to go there tomorrow. In the meantime, I'm going to post a little bit, and Ronnie and I (trying to slip back into the friendship we had and hopefully always will have) are going to either go to a nature preserve just off the coast of South County (Ninigret Island) or to a secluded mountain in the southwest corner of this state.
Been doing a lot of writing, but this time I'm posting someone else's poem. Pablo Neruda was one of my influences when I was publishing poetry in San Francisco, and subsequently, he's one of the ones I go back to when I'm thinking a lot. (Maybe thinking too much... I can't help but shake the feeling that I've been doing just that.)
Still poise
I would like not to know, not to dream
Who could show me how not to be,
how to live without going on living?
How does water continue?
What heaven do stones have?
Still, at the point where migrating birds
hang in their apogee,
and then fly on in their arrows
to the icy archipelagos.
Still, with a secret life
like a subterranean city,
and the days sliding by
like ever escaping drops;
nothing exhausted or dying
on the way to our rebirth,
to our own return to life
in the steps of the buried spring,
of all that lay deep and lost,
interminably still,
and which now swims up from unbeing
to become a branch in flower.
I must add that the word he uses is immovil, 'still' as in immobile, and not siempre, which is how 'still' sounds to us at the beginning of the last stanza.
Anyway, more later. May post some of my own later on.
bovisrex
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