What the Philosophers say about reality is often as deceptive as when you see a sign in a second-hand store that reads: Pressing Done Here. If you went in with your clothes to have them pressed you would be fooled; the sign is for sale.
— Søren Kierkegaard, “Diapsalmata” from Either/Or.
The creosote burns black and thick
while snow it sizzles atop the beam
Each member once held something grand
a shed for hay, but grand all the same
Wind-blown summer brought it down
beams and pillars, structural collapse
So it came, the end of shed
no more to keep the hay
The lumber burns in cherry red
as calm breeze blows the orange tongues higher
All I can think to do is watch
and remember the summers long past.
A fire broke out backstage in a theatre. The Clown came out to warn the public; they thought it was a joke and applauded. He repeated it; the acclaim was even greater. I think that's just how the world will come to an end: to general applause from wits who believe it's a joke.
— Søren Kierkegaard, “Diapsalmata” from Either/Or.
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2 comments:
Wow.
I didn't know you had a blog. Why *exactly* did you decide not to finish your degree?
Candace,
when you're in an MA program, writing poetry is a waste of your valuable time.
When you're working part-time for your uncle, writing poetry is something you do for kicks over your lunchbreak, while watching scrap lumber burn and after you've finished building an army of snowmen. ^_^
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