not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Thursday, January 15, 2015

"a congress a quiet congress"













...this repose this calm
this being fills the night of the living woods

(from Hayden Carruth's "Contra Mortem")

11 comments:

  1. Erin,

    As cold as these make me feel, I still want to be in there, somewhere. And if you look with an unfocused gaze, it kind of feels like I am. I'd only trust you to bring that about in an image. May be I should stop calling it an image.

    ReplyDelete
  2. ...my limbs may bend and curl like no other but i'm still a tree. it makes me recognizable amidst the forest..

    ReplyDelete
  3. Still mysterious, but there are so few giants in our woods.

    ReplyDelete
  4. My favorite friends, trees, in all their twisted and majestic glory - so like us that I find myself walking in the woods patting their long arms or whispering into their leafy ears for forgiveness for all the paper I've wasted on silly poems. You've captured them perfectly!o

    ReplyDelete
  5. The northwoods in winter--a quiet delight.

    ReplyDelete
  6. what else to sit against death than intimacy? this forest, this moment in the forest during which the snow first began, was such an opportunity. to see the snow lie against and define! what is love if not this?

    (not such a northern forest. we have no such vines up here. this was in indiana just into the new year.)

    xo
    erin

    ReplyDelete
  7. you don't know how much i need this right now...

    ReplyDelete
  8. erin, i wish i had your "eyes" for a while.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Cada vez siento un mayor respeto por los bosques, a medida que me desagrada cada vez más la ciudad. El ánimo que infunden, ese soplo vital que penetra en tu interior, te cobijan y te nutren.

    Un abrazo

    ReplyDelete
  10. Par instants, entre deux chutes de neiges, perdu dans le bois, j'essaie de déchiffrer cette écriture céleste tombée au sol, comme ici, dans cet entrelacs de branches, qui n'est fait que pour nous enseigner la poésie.
    Pour que la poésie nous atteigne, il faut qu'elle soit en nous, quelque part. Elle est dans ton cœur.

    ReplyDelete

"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))