07-29-2023, 06:12 AM
Ars Poetica
by Christian Wiman
1.
—a plum and othering dusk,
something renunciatory in the light,
until the sparrow takes the old tree’s shape
and the trees untreed are everywhere.
If I could let go
If I could know what there is to let go
If I could chance the night’s improvidence
and be the being this hard mercy means.
2.
These lost and charnel thoughts
less thoughts than bits of stun
I suddenly find myself among;
that are the me I am when I am not
sleeked to reason and pacific despair
speak to me of a pain that saves,
some endmost ear to shrive the mind.
by Christian Wiman
1.
—a plum and othering dusk,
something renunciatory in the light,
until the sparrow takes the old tree’s shape
and the trees untreed are everywhere.
If I could let go
If I could know what there is to let go
If I could chance the night’s improvidence
and be the being this hard mercy means.
2.
These lost and charnel thoughts
less thoughts than bits of stun
I suddenly find myself among;
that are the me I am when I am not
sleeked to reason and pacific despair
speak to me of a pain that saves,
some endmost ear to shrive the mind.