And it was at that age . . . Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don’t know, I don’t know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don’t know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.
I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.
And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
likeness, image of
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.
– Pablo Neruda
translated by Alastair Reid
5 thoughts on “Morning Trip (45)”
Up the tree! And scratch the fluffy blue! Stark effect yet quite colorful. I like that(being partial to “up-the-tree” shots anyways). 😉
You had me going with that great poem. Being somewhat unfamiliar with Neruda, I started out thinking you wrote it. Soon I thought, dang, she did get touched by the abyss or something! 😉 Anyways, goes great with your pic.
Yeesssssssssss!! If I write my own poetry, it is found under Purple Profundity! We are getting YOUR snow now 😛
Have a nice night with family!
drunk with the great starry void…
Beautiful image! I’m loving the way you’re relating to the theme!
Why, thank you very much! I managed to peruse your own blog, the ones around posts related to Creative Every Day, and I found the one with the cute baby bootie-makin’ book and your purse project. I think I like imperfect learning and experiential sharings the most. They are more real and hold more emotion than the ones people can hold until some inner perfectionism is satisfied.