tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post2647056562209807631..comments2024-03-23T20:37:37.891-07:00Comments on First Known When Lost: DaysStephen Pentzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-53492315594464842312017-05-07T21:19:48.189-07:002017-05-07T21:19:48.189-07:00John: Thank you very much for those wonderful and...John: Thank you very much for those wonderful and lovely thoughts. I completely agree that the acceptance of uncertainty and the realization that we live amid mystery are key stages in attaining (one hopes) some sort of tranquility and peace. You are exactly right (as you and I have discussed here in the past): it all comes back to being receptive, to paying attention -- "to stop, look, listen and realise the uselessness of hurry," as you say. Your final quote from Pavese is lovely and perfect (and so true).<br /><br />As always, I greatly appreciate your stopping by. I hope you enjoyed your spring holiday.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-42343675312605776202017-05-06T07:44:14.361-07:002017-05-06T07:44:14.361-07:00Anonymous: Thank you very much for those thoughts...Anonymous: Thank you very much for those thoughts, and for sharing the poem by Emerson (which is new to me) and the lines from Stevens. I agree wholeheartedly that "the wonder and mystery of the quotidian" is what is most important in our lives. Frost is exactly right, isn't he?<br /><br />Thank you again.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-43670277411629237842017-05-05T08:06:30.440-07:002017-05-05T08:06:30.440-07:00Stephen, I’m not sure whether we become any wiser ...Stephen, I’m not sure whether we become any wiser with age, but perhaps we become more accepting of uncertainty and the limit to what we can possibly know.<br />I’m content that those days of arrogance and certainty that can prevail in our youth are long past. The advancing years have increased my contentment with the reality of the mystery of the universe.<br /><br />I’m content to spend my time, or as much of it as I can in being attentive to the world I inhabit. Noticing what is around me, and as seemingly commonplace as it may appear, remembering that therein is the miracle.<br /><br />I’m reminded of some words of Wendell Berry; “We are alive within mystery, by miracle we have more than we can know.” And also;- “ Never forget; we are alive in mysteries.”<br /><br />The Larkin and Mahon poems are both long time favourites of mine. The haiku of Taigi and Buson are new to me, the Buson “ A night of stars” in particular is lovely.<br /><br />Apart from a few minor aches, age does not trouble me. There is for me an understanding of my own insignificance that has deepened with the passing of the years which does not fill me with fear or any need to make noise in the world about myself.<br /><br />I am here for a short while, that in itself is a miracle. To live gently and quietly, to have some moments of serenity hopefully ,and to be grateful that I am still able to witness, “the World and all of its beautiful particulars” .<br /><br />I also fail to stop thinking too much, and on certain days my mind is uselessly beset by minor problems when I should be noticing the world. It is what we must endeavour to do and remind ourselves to stop, look, listen and realise the uselessness of hurry. <br /><br />“ We do not remember days, we remember moments” – Cesare Pavese.<br />John Ashtonnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-86820144049861853992017-05-04T20:43:55.166-07:002017-05-04T20:43:55.166-07:00George: It's good to hear from you again. Th...George: It's good to hear from you again. Thank you for sharing the lines from "90 North," a poem that I have long been fond of -- a bleak poem, but beautiful. And thank you as well for the lovely lines from Cunningham, which are new to me. I agree with his qualified statement "wisdom, if it comes . . .," as well as with his thought that, if it does come, it is "briefly shining." We can only hope for glimpses, I think.<br /><br />As always, thank you very much for stopping by.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-89424604557491450152017-05-04T20:31:26.161-07:002017-05-04T20:31:26.161-07:00Denise: Thank you for the kind words. I'm pl...Denise: Thank you for the kind words. I'm pleased to hear that you like the Larkin poem -- it tends to be overlooked. I think we all realize that the present moment is "where we live," but it is very difficult to live day-by-day in light of that awareness. Poetry is one of the things that provides me with "reminders" (to borrow your word) of this fact.<br /><br />Thank you very much for sharing your thoughts, and for visiting again.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-18367413867597043412017-05-04T10:49:19.120-07:002017-05-04T10:49:19.120-07:00Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days,
Muffled a...Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days, <br />Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, <br />And marching single in an endless file, <br />Bring diadems and fagots in their hands. <br />To each they offer gifts after his will,<br />Bread, kingdom, stars, and sky that holds them all. <br />I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp, <br />Forgot my morning wishes, hastily <br />Took a few herbs and apples, and the <br />Day Turned and departed silent.<br />I, too late, Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.<br /><br />Emerson's poem echoes your sentiments that too often we ignore the wonders and spectacles each day bring to us, the gifts that offer to us. Too often, we ignore the wonder and mystery of the quotidian. I recall that in Wallace Steven's poem "Large Red Man Reading," the poet says that could the dead return what they'd long for was "to step barefoot in to reality." "They would have wept and been happy, have shivered in the frost / And cried out to fell it again, have run fingers over leaves / And against the most coiled thorns." I think of Chardin's paintings, comestibles on a table. It's as Frost says, we keep looking to see for a miracle and neglect to look behind us at the land where miracles enough lie to enchant us.<br /><br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-4751677892711372932017-05-04T02:43:20.159-07:002017-05-04T02:43:20.159-07:00Well, there is Randall Jarrell's
Pain comes t...Well, there is Randall Jarrell's<br /><br />Pain comes to us out of the darkness,<br />And we call it wisdom. It is pain.<br /><br />("90 North", I think)<br /><br />or J.V. Cunningham's<br /><br />The journey of the soul is simply<br /> Through age to wisdom;<br /> But wisdom, if it comes,<br />Comes like the ripening gleam of wheat,<br /><br />Nourished by comfort, care, rain, sunlight,<br /> And briefly shining<br /> On windy and hot days,<br />Flashing like snakes underneath the haze.<br /><br />(The Helmsman: An Ode)Georgehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14819154529261482038noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-34732158128632256682017-05-03T21:44:18.327-07:002017-05-03T21:44:18.327-07:00How I love that Larkin poem. Your wonderful post ...How I love that Larkin poem. Your wonderful post was for me a timely reminder that all we have is the present moment. Past and future exist only in our minds. Thank you Stephen!Denisenoreply@blogger.com