One of the upsides of blogging is that bloggers have a happy tendency to post about the serendipitously discovered nuggets of neatness and wonder that they find lying loose among the dross and chaff of everyday life. This little gem was gleaned by Half Heard In the Stillness. I particularly like the imagery in the last two verses. Well fielded, HHITS.
Questions About Angels
© 1991 by Billy Collins. All rights controlled by the University of Pittsburgh Press.
A dancing angel. Yeah, I could see that. Dancing to that famous jazz, the music of the spheres, Too many images of serious angels about. Seriously, how could you have wings and be able to fly and be serious? At which point the riff wanders through the Samaria series by Sharon Shinn, which is a take of a different color on materia angelica
Oh, and I’m putting this
Out of the nothingness of sleep,
The slow dreams of Eternity,
There was a thunder on the deep:
I came, because you called to me. . .
where I can find it again. I think it is a story egg, and I’ll be interested to see, if it hatches, what it hatches. It’s the first verse of a poem by Rupert Brooke, who wrote “capital P” Poetry — the rest of the poem is a little overheated for my taste and grandiose in a kind of overblown Victorian way, but I do like that line, “There was a thunder on the deep”. Don’t know about that “nothingness of sleep” bit — my sleep, at any rate, is too chock-a-block with dreams to qualify as “nothingness.” I found the poem after the riff had waded across the stream of wonderful music that flows through the wonderful voice of Kate Rusby and out into the world. . .
Oh, and while we’re poetizing, a shot of Edna St. Vincent Millay never goes amiss.
(from The Harp-Weaver, and Other Poems)
Loving you less than life, a little less
Than bitter-sweet upon a broken wall
Or bush-wood smoke in autumn, I confess
I cannot swear I love you not at all.
For there is that about you in this light–
A yellow darkness, sinister of rain–
Which sturdily recalls my stubborn sight
To dwell on you, and dwell on you again.
And I am made aware of many a week
I shall consume, remembering in what way
Your brown hair grows about your brow and cheek,
And what divine absurdities you say:
Till all the world, and I, and surely you,
Will know I love you, whether or not I do.
That phrase “A yellow darkness, sinister of rain –” Spot on, Edna. Absolutely spot on. Well, enough of that. There’s work to do. The Mag has another challenge up. I think I’ll rise to it (or stoop to it — we’ll see).