The poet is someone who feasts at the same table as other people. --But at a certain point he feels a lack. He is provoked by a perception of absence within what others regard as a full and satisfactory present.
-- Anne Carson
The tension of the last two weeks built up like the heat and humidity of the days, threw out its light jagged and blinding, incessant and tiresome, then broke in a rumble and downpour of steady and washing away.
Wondeful words on two counts, Elizabeth, Anne Carson's thoughts and your sublime response.
ReplyDeleteThank God for poets. They feel the essence of life in the gaps of our otherwise meaningless days.
You know what? I think you don't ever have to go on this particular vacation again.
ReplyDeleteGood morning.
Just catching up to your blog now after a self-imposed hiatus from the computer because I was developing migraines.
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry your vacation has been anything but restful. It sounds like you found some release, and I hope that helps you turn a corner. Not that anything dramatic will change where Sophie is concerned, but that a new perspective might make you feel more free.
As always, thinking of you and your family...
I have also been on hiatus. I am sorry this went so badly and glad the boys are having fun. You will be home soon and it will become a memory.
ReplyDeleteMy northern state has had tropical dew points. I feel your pain on that level.
what Elisabeth said.
ReplyDeleteand of course I like the table reference.
You definitely have a poet's heart.
ReplyDeleteI've been trying to think of something great to write about this beautiful, expressive, appropriate metaphor. But nothing seems good enough. I hope the downpour brought fresh, cool, clear skies to follow.
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