tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13987092.post6260147783175936820..comments2023-09-28T01:46:12.871-07:00Comments on Bro. Bartleby: SilentBro. Bartlebyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15980379263844521557noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13987092.post-6525576720704046882008-01-16T18:58:00.000-08:002008-01-16T18:58:00.000-08:00Sounds like a fun retreat, especially anytime Wall...Sounds like a fun retreat, especially anytime Wallace Stevens arrives on the scene. <BR/><BR/>Final Soliloquy of the Interior Paramour<BR/> <BR/>Light the first light of evening<BR/>In which we rest and, for small reason, think<BR/>The world imagined is the ultimate good. <BR/><BR/>This is, therefore, the intensest rendezvous.<BR/>It is in that thought that we collect ourselves,<BR/>Out of all the indifferences, into one thing: <BR/><BR/>Within a single thing, a single shawl<BR/>Wrapped tightly round us, since we are poor, a warmth,<BR/>A light, a power, the miraculous influence. <BR/><BR/>Here, now, we forget each other and ourselves.<BR/>We feel the obscurity of an order, a whole,<BR/>A knowledge, that which arranged the rendezvous. <BR/><BR/>Within its vital boundary, in the mind.<BR/>We say God and the imagination are one...<BR/>How high that highest candle lights the dark. <BR/><BR/>Out of this same light, out of the central mind,<BR/>We make a dwelling in the evening air,<BR/>In which being there together is enough. <BR/><BR/>--Wallace StevensBro. Bartlebyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15980379263844521557noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13987092.post-22468634404383506482008-01-14T07:49:00.000-08:002008-01-14T07:49:00.000-08:00I think this might be apt:The Snowman by Wallace S...I think this might be apt:<BR/><BR/>The Snowman <BR/>by Wallace Stevens<BR/><BR/>One must have a mind of winter<BR/>To regard the frost and the boughs<BR/>Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;<BR/><BR/>And have been cold a long time<BR/>To behold the junipers shagged with ice,<BR/>The spruces rough in the distant glitter<BR/><BR/>Of the January sun; and not to think<BR/>Of any misery in the sound of the wind,<BR/>In the sound of a few leaves,<BR/><BR/>Which is the sound of the land<BR/>Full of the same wind<BR/>That is blowing in the same bare place<BR/><BR/>For the listener, who listens in the snow,<BR/>And, nothing himself, beholds<BR/>Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.<BR/><BR/>--from Harmonium, 1923<BR/><BR/>this poem was shared with participants this weekend at the end of an Insight Dialogue Retreat that I attended ...jzrhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05938966640494785871noreply@blogger.com