Lounging in the dry warmth of the sun,
overcome by the beauty of the green cliffs
rising above the hypnotic blue water. . . .
I think of Mann's The Magic Mountain,
obsession with the physical
(not, in this case, disease, of course,
but the sensual):
skin glowing in the year-round sun;
ripe fruit
falling into one's hand;
air, rich with the smell of flowers. . . .
Wouldn't such pleasure
inevitably dull the mind's keen edge?
Wouldn't Eden's ease
subvert all great endeavor?
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 3:54 PM UTC
Lounging in the dry warmth of the sun,
overcome by the beauty of the green cliffs
rising above the hypnotic blue water. . . .
I think of Mann's The Magic Mountain,
obsession with the physical
(not, in this case, disease, of course,
but the sensual):
skin glowing in the year-round sun;
ripe fruit
falling into one's hand;
air, rich with the smell of flowers. . . .
Wouldn't such pleasure
inevitably dull the mind's keen edge?
Wouldn't Eden's ease
subvert all great endeavor?
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem: humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF_026_laguna.MP3 .
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