tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post4832694681050105230..comments2024-03-23T20:37:37.891-07:00Comments on First Known When Lost: "Strange How The Count Of Time Revalues Things!"Stephen Pentzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-12761045556622630992015-11-17T20:33:37.275-08:002015-11-17T20:33:37.275-08:00Deb: I'm very happy to hear from you again. ...Deb: I'm very happy to hear from you again. Thank you for the kind words about the post. "Everything Is Going to Be All Right" and "Revaluation" are two of my favorite poems, and they have made their way into my posts on various occasions. "White Cloud" I only discovered around the time I wrote the post. It is lovely, isn't it? Wittgenstein's "no harm can come to me" anecdote has always stuck with me, and I've read a few different versions of it: he seems to have recounted it to several of his close acquaintances. Most of what Wittgenstein writes leaves me befuddled, but he sometimes comes up with these aphoristic insights that get to the essence of things. I've often felt that he was a Buddhist or a Taoist at heart. And Bertrand Russell described him as a "mystic," which I like.<br /><br />Thank you again for the thoughts, which I greatly appreciate. It's always a pleasure to hear from you.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-64522407591988503152015-11-16T18:59:46.556-08:002015-11-16T18:59:46.556-08:00I found may way here belatedly via your mention of...I found may way here belatedly via your mention of the Derek Mahon poem in your most recent post. Thank you so much, it is just lovely, and I promptly shared it.<br /><br />The piece about Wittgenstein also really spoke to me, and echoes something that came up earlier today in conversation. And White Cloud, by Bertolt Brecht, also very lovely, and now saved to my growing file of favourites. <br /><br />So glad I found may way back to this earlier post of yours. Just lovely all round - as are all your posts, OF COURSE!! :-)Debnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-2314664884258468892015-03-22T22:50:40.568-07:002015-03-22T22:50:40.568-07:00R. T.: I'm pleased you liked Mahon's poem...R. T.: I'm pleased you liked Mahon's poem, and I'm glad that it came at an opportune time. It is one of my favorites by him (well, by anybody, actually). I saw your posting of the Rossetti poem, which does go well with Mahon's poem. As you may have noticed, she is also a favorite of mine, and her poetry has appeared here quite a few times.<br /><br />Thank you very much for visiting again, and for your thoughts.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-13497016778291125322015-03-22T11:21:54.360-07:002015-03-22T11:21:54.360-07:00The Mahon poem -- as graciously presented by you -...The Mahon poem -- as graciously presented by you -- arrives in front of me at just the right time. The past several days and weeks here at Beyond Eastrod -- tucked away into an inlet on the Gulf coast -- have been wretched. Thank you for sharing Mahon poems. It dovetails nicely with my posting today at B/E.R.T.https://www.blogger.com/profile/13220814349193561823noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-29770360825152192102015-03-14T12:15:39.501-07:002015-03-14T12:15:39.501-07:00Anonymous: Thank you very much for your thoughts o...Anonymous: Thank you very much for your thoughts on memory, and for the poem by Justice, which is new to me. Your point that these moments "illumine . . . the human condition" is an excellent one. Perhaps this was what I was inarticulately trying to get at when I said that my momentary experience did not involve a feeling of happiness or sadness, or a regret for the passing of the years, but only serenity.<br /><br />Thank you again.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-12696132991278755362015-03-14T10:08:37.118-07:002015-03-14T10:08:37.118-07:00Absences
by Donald Justice
It's s... Absences<br /> by Donald Justice<br /><br />It's snowing this afternoon and there are no flowers.<br />There is only this sound of falling, quiet and remote,<br />Like the memory of scales descending the white keys<br />Of a childhood piano- outside the window, palms! <br />And the heavy head of the cereus, inclining,<br />Soon to let down its white or yellow-white.<br /><br />Now, only these poor snow-flowers in a heap,<br />Like the memory of a white dress cast down... <br />So much has fallen.<br />And I, who have listened for a step<br />All afternoon, hear it now, but already falling away,<br />Already in memory. And the terrible scales descending<br />On the silent piano; the snow; and the absent flowers abounding.<br /><br />In the above poem Donald Justice watching the snow fall through the afternoon is reminded of his piano lessons in Miami many years before. The falling snow and its triggering his boyhood piano practice leads to the conclusion that "much has fallen."<br /><br />For a moment the poet thinks he has returned to the past, but he, as we all must do, knows the past is gone forever and all we have left of it is memory. And the epiphany, if we can call it that, vanishes like smoke into the wind, and he is left with the cold snow falling on the barren earth, wrapped in winter's barren arms.<br /><br />You are quite right in your post about how the seemingly most mundane thing can fire memory, not in a nostalgic way (this way is cheap and manipulative way) but in a way that illumines, if just for a moment, the human condition--the memory of a footstep, one that seems it might be born again, that will never come again.<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-42436723917499831922015-03-12T12:57:28.044-07:002015-03-12T12:57:28.044-07:00Anonymous: Thank you for bringing Thomas Hardy int...Anonymous: Thank you for bringing Thomas Hardy into this discussion, and, specifically, "Under the Waterfall," which is perhaps emblematic of Hardy's poetry as a whole. As you know, a significant portion (one could even say the lion's share) of his poems seem to have been triggered by talismanic memories, whether of past love, family, or childhood. As I have noted before, he once remarked that he could recall with great clarity events that occurred decades in the past. These recollections often produced poems.<br /><br />I appreciate your sharing the poem. Thank you again.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-81480980925494046642015-03-12T09:23:39.904-07:002015-03-12T09:23:39.904-07:00Mr. Penz,
I wonder whether the below poem by Hard...Mr. Penz,<br /><br />I wonder whether the below poem by Hardy, one you no doubt know, fits your idea of some workaday gesture, something otherwise insignificant, somehow, mysteriously, triggers a memory: "The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day":<br /><br />Under the Waterfall<br /><br /><br />'Whenever I plunge my arm, like this, <br />In a basin of water, I never miss <br />The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day <br />Fetched back from its thickening shroud of gray. <br />Hence the only prime <br />And real love-rhyme <br />That I know by heart, <br />And that leaves no smart, <br />Is the purl of a little valley fall <br />About three spans wide and two spans tall <br />Over a table of solid rock, <br />And into a scoop of the self-same block; <br />The purl of a runlet that never ceases <br />In stir of kingdoms, in wars, in peaces; <br />With a hollow boiling voice it speaks <br />And has spoken since hills were turfless peaks.' <br /><br />'And why gives this the only prime <br />Idea to you of a real love-rhyme? <br />And why does plunging your arm in a bowl <br />Full of spring water, bring throbs to your soul?' <br /><br />'Well, under the fall, in a crease of the stone, <br />Though precisely where none ever has known, <br />Jammed darkly, nothing to show how prized, <br />And by now with its smoothness opalized, <br />Is a grinking glass: <br />For, down that pass <br />My lover and I <br />Walked under a sky <br />Of blue with a leaf-wove awning of green, <br />In the burn of August, to paint the scene, <br />And we placed our basket of fruit and wine <br />By the runlet's rim, where we sat to dine; <br />And when we had drunk from the glass together, <br />Arched by the oak-copse from the weather, <br />I held the vessel to rinse in the fall, <br />Where it slipped, and it sank, and was past recall, <br />Though we stooped and plumbed the little abyss <br />With long bared arms. There the glass still is. <br />And, as said, if I thrust my arm below <br />Cold water in a basin or bowl, a throe <br />From the past awakens a sense of that time, <br />And the glass we used, and the cascade's rhyme. <br />The basin seems the pool, and its edge <br />The hard smooth face of the brook-side ledge, <br />And the leafy pattern of china-ware <br />The hanging plants that were bathing there. <br /><br />'By night, by day, when it shines or lours, <br />There lies intact that chalice of ours, <br />And its presence adds to the rhyme of love <br />Persistently sung by the fall above. <br />No lip has touched it since his and mine <br />In turns therefrom sipped lovers' wine<br /><br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-36056306198093871462015-03-12T08:48:50.744-07:002015-03-12T08:48:50.744-07:00Mr Ashton: It's good to hear from you again. ...Mr Ashton: It's good to hear from you again. Thank you very much for the kind words about the post. I'm pleased that you liked it.<br /><br />As always, I greatly appreciate your stopping by.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-17410649495539223662015-03-12T01:42:39.043-07:002015-03-12T01:42:39.043-07:00 A wonderful post. I have little else to add. What... A wonderful post. I have little else to add. What you say in the post and the poems themselves say it all.Thank you Mr Pentz. John Ashtonnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-56107385837638382822015-03-11T16:37:07.257-07:002015-03-11T16:37:07.257-07:00Anonymous: Thank you for the stanzas from Aiken...Anonymous: Thank you for the stanzas from Aiken's poem, which are new to me. They capture the working of memory very well. For some reason, the sea seems to be particularly evocative in this regard, doesn't it? <br /><br />Thank you again for the poem, as well as for your thoughts.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-45749327630362988182015-03-11T11:27:48.752-07:002015-03-11T11:27:48.752-07:00In the noisy street,
Where the sifted sunlight ye...In the noisy street, <br />Where the sifted sunlight yellows the pallid faces, <br />Sudden I close my eyes, and on my eyelids <br />Feel from the far-off sea a cool faint spray,-- <br /><br />A breath on my cheek, <br />From the tumbling breakers and foam, the hard sand shattered, <br />Gulls in the high wind whistling, flashing waters, <br />Smoke from the flashing waters blown on rocks; <br /><br />--And I know once more, <br />O dearly belovèd! that all these seas are between us, <br />Tumult and madness, desolate save for the sea-gulls, <br />You on the farther shore, and I in this street<br /> --Stanza 4 of Conrad Aiken's "Discordants?<br /><br />A breeze at twilight, the look of an October sky, a few lines from an old song--memories surprise us, seep through into our consciousness when we least expect it.<br /><br />Sometimes, as in the excerpt from Aiken above, something comes from where the winds usually sleep and, as if going at us with a knife, remind us what is gone forever.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com