I would like to describe the simplest emotion
joy or sadness
but not as others do
reaching for shafts of rain or sun
I would like to describe a light
which is being born in me
but I know it does not resemble
any star
for it is not so bright
not so pure
and is uncertain
I would like to describe courage
without dragging behind me a dusty lion
and also anxiety
without shaking a glass full of water
to put it another way
I would give all metaphors
in return for one word
drawn out of my breast like a rib
for one word
contained within the boundaries
of my skin
but apparently this is not possible
and just to say–I love
I run around like mad
picking up handfuls of birds
and my tenderness
which after all is not made of water
asks the water for a face
and anger
different from fire
borrows from it
a loquacious tongue
so is blurred
so is blurred
in me
what white-haired gentlemen
separated once and for all
and said
this is the subject
and this is the object
we fall asleep
with one hand under our head
and with the other in a mound of planets
our feet abandon us
and taste the earth
with their tiny roots
which next morning
we tear out painfully
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hmmm very interesting…I’ve thought about this a good deal…people never seem satisfied with the meanings of words..always requiring some further intricacies “what do you mean?” etc….it has led me to be very precise in my word choice which is obnoxious
Beautiful.
However, I do believe adjectives should be verbs.
I am so tempted to explain my thoughts, but I think that defeats the purpose…
do you know who translated this poem?
Indeed I do! I copied this poem from the collection that i have, which was translated jointly by Czeslaw Milosz and Peter Dale Scott.
see here for more info about the collected works: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/isbnInquiry.asp?z=y&EAN=9780060783907&itm=1
I have been trying to refrain from posting my own thoughts about these poems (which has been difficult, i can tell you, since they represent some of my favorites) for the sake of not stinting discussion. However, i have to interject here in response to Chris and Candice’s comments to say the following:
I think in many ways this poem touches on what i believe to be the ultimate purpose and ultimate difficulty of poetry: to, as Emily Dickenson so perfectly put it, “tell the truth but tell it slant.” In other words, to describe the world in which we live (by which i broadly mean the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual environment) in terms that at once capture the underlying truth of things and also phrase it in such a way that makes the truth seem new and brings to light some new facet of it.
It is for this reason the poet must search so diligently for unique terms in which to couch his ideas, for new and startling turns of phrase.