The Day of St Valentine is here once again. Daft, commercialised and a tad trite as it has become, it's basically all about love and good feelings...that could never be all bad.
No sloppy luv and kisses here, just a poem I especially like, dedicated to any and all whose words help in keeping me sane in this mad, mad world.
William Stafford's
A Ritual to Read to Each Other
If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.
For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.
And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.
And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should consider--
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.
For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give--yes or no, or maybe--
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.
No sloppy luv and kisses here, just a poem I especially like, dedicated to any and all whose words help in keeping me sane in this mad, mad world.
William Stafford's
A Ritual to Read to Each Other
If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.
For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.
And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.
And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should consider--
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.
For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give--yes or no, or maybe--
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.
Twilight ~ I like the poem you chose for today, seems fitting. Your post led me down a rabbit hole, trying to learn more about the poet, William Stafford. Ends up he was a friend of another writer I like, Jungian-influenced, Robert Bly.
ReplyDeleteOne thing led to another (as all rabbit holes do), and I discovered more poetry and books ~ by William Stafford as well as other poets/writers. Thanks.:)
LB ~ Good, I'm pleased you enjoyed the read. I like Stafford's poem, "Allegiances" too. He's a "comfortable" kind of poet, for me. I shall investigate Robert Bly, he's a poet I havn't yet encountered - thanks for the introduction. :)
ReplyDeleteThe only writing of Robert Bly's I'm really familiar with is his book, "A Little Book on the Human Shadow" ~ which I enjoyed.
ReplyDelete