Aug 15
"ELECTED SILENCE, SING TO ME..."
"Skin"
as they used to call him
is( like me )
up a tree
the very topmost
tip of it
wondering at this
great height
"What must it be
to be
someone
else?"
I too a boy
at one with the sky
sharing
a branch with a bird
who accepts me
as just
another( if odd )
bird
of a different feather
I wonder if
the bird wonders what
it must me to be - me
esse quam videri
( to be rather than
to seem to be)
words carved into the living
tree
the wounded bark
clouds too
are my friends
feel as if I could
step on one
have the wind
roll me about
fields...
a green
patchwork quilt
river...
a silver thread
house --a mere toy
Time
spreads out
endlessly
it is always
and only
forever
the created
and uncreated
map of Now
"Skin" or
Gerard Manley Hopkins
as I will get to know him
both up
our respective
trees
he in 1853
me in 1963
drinking in
the world
with our eyes
and one big
gulp
of the mind
*
REALITY'S UNRAVELLER
Charles Luxmoore on Gerard Manley Hopkins...
"...a fearless climber of trees, and would go up very high in the lofty elm tree, standing in our garden...to the the alarm of un-lookers like myself."
I on the other hand climbed trees to escape the world of my young sister's death...here at this great height I could be both in and out of the world...longing to be someone else...somewhere else....anywhere else...anyone else...even a bird if that could be...the map of the world spread below me...high above this bitter grief. I would "vanish" into bay windows and sit for hours whilst aunts and uncle stood a few feet from me and wondered where "the boy has gone" and call my name that didn't seem to be me anymore.
I remember sitting between two silver milk churns down in Cork and everyone unseeing of me as if my grief had made me invisible. I was "Of reality the rarest-veined unraveller..."
"Skin"
as they used to call him
is( like me )
up a tree
the very topmost
tip of it
wondering at this
great height
"What must it be
to be
someone
else?"
I too a boy
at one with the sky
sharing
a branch with a bird
who accepts me
as just
another( if odd )
bird
of a different feather
I wonder if
the bird wonders what
it must me to be - me
esse quam videri
( to be rather than
to seem to be)
words carved into the living
tree
the wounded bark
clouds too
are my friends
feel as if I could
step on one
have the wind
roll me about
fields...
a green
patchwork quilt
river...
a silver thread
house --a mere toy
Time
spreads out
endlessly
it is always
and only
forever
the created
and uncreated
map of Now
"Skin" or
Gerard Manley Hopkins
as I will get to know him
both up
our respective
trees
he in 1853
me in 1963
drinking in
the world
with our eyes
and one big
gulp
of the mind
*
REALITY'S UNRAVELLER
Charles Luxmoore on Gerard Manley Hopkins...
"...a fearless climber of trees, and would go up very high in the lofty elm tree, standing in our garden...to the the alarm of un-lookers like myself."
I on the other hand climbed trees to escape the world of my young sister's death...here at this great height I could be both in and out of the world...longing to be someone else...somewhere else....anywhere else...anyone else...even a bird if that could be...the map of the world spread below me...high above this bitter grief. I would "vanish" into bay windows and sit for hours whilst aunts and uncle stood a few feet from me and wondered where "the boy has gone" and call my name that didn't seem to be me anymore.
I remember sitting between two silver milk churns down in Cork and everyone unseeing of me as if my grief had made me invisible. I was "Of reality the rarest-veined unraveller..."
