At the earliest ending of winter

Some daffodils (kind of...)

Had a flying visit by the sun today,
and a lenghty walk in the (so called) woods.

"At the earliest ending of winter,
In March, a scrawny cry from outside
Seemed like a sound in his mind.

He knew that he heard it,
A bird's cry at daylight or before,
In the early March wind

The sun was rising at six,
No longer a battered panache above snow . . .
It would have been outside.

It was not from the vast ventriloquism
Of sleep's faded papier mâché . . .
The sun was coming from outside.

That scrawny cry—it was
A chorister whose c preceded the choir.
It was part of the colossal sun,

Surrounded by its choral rings,
Still far away. It was like
A new knowledge of reality."

(Wallace Stevens: Not Ideas About the
Thing But the Thing Itself)


ArtSparker hat gesagt…

...Das ding an sich.

Stevens is my favorite.

Joei Rhode Island hat gesagt…

Your colors are so lovely...so soft yet the edges so pointed ...like the edge of winter or very early spring.

jenclair hat gesagt…

Oh, yes. Spring and daffodils!