Sunday, January 29, 2006

Sunday January 29, 2006

Filed under: General — m759 @ 10:00 AM
New Haven

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The eye’s plain version is a thing apart,
The vulgate of experience.  Of this,
A few words, an and yet, and yet, and yet–

As part of the never-ending meditation,
Part of the question that is a giant himself:
Of what is this house composed if not of the sun,

These houses, these difficult objects, dilapidate
Appearances of what appearances,
Words, lines, not meanings, not communications,

Dark things without a double, after all,
Unless a second giant kills the first–
A recent imagining of reality,

Much like a new resemblance of the sun,
Down-pouring, up-springing and inevitable,
A larger poem for a larger audience,

As if the crude collops came together as one,
A mythological form, a festival sphere,
A great bosom, beard and being, alive with age.

— Wallace Stevens, opening lines of
    “An Ordinary Evening in New Haven”

1 Comment

  1. “crude collops”

    I’ve always loved that phrase.

    Comment by SuSu — Sunday, January 29, 2006 @ 5:14 PM

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