Here you won't find the pages of a pedantic journal, praises to fantastic places or accounts of memorable encounters. This is a collection of stories, thoughts, images, and most of all odd stuff, even though to someone else it might actually look ordinary. To discern its bizarre side, in fact, special filters are needed: cynicism, fussiness, stubbornness, isolation, impudence, nosiness and nerdiness. All flaws that, in different measure, this semi-nomadic being has got embedded in his genes.
Saturday, October 19, 2024
The wild iris - Louise Glück
What might at first seem a sequence
of conversations of a mad voice
with singular, plural, material
and imagined listeners,
suddenly becomes clear
and beautiful as well,
when you finally understand
the underlining pattern.
The book starts when spring begins
and ends when summer finishes.
Flowers communicate with the poet-gardener,
about birth, death, rebirth,
helplessness, terror and hope.
The poetess-creature speaks
(through matins and vespers) with God,
desperate, impudent and skeptical,
about life, death, the afterlife
or the lack thereof.
And God (through seasons, events, phases)
talks to his creation-poetess,
bossy, peremptory and irritated,
about his motives, disappointments
and future, final plans.
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