This is another awesome poem, by an author whose prose is trash (how sad that I am judging a man who at least writes and is world renowned….but then I was always notorious for my temerity)….coming back, whose prose is trash, but poetry is turning out to be a revelation.
When fear grows too intense to handle,
We shrink into a private smile,
Surprised when here and there a candle
Drives back the darkness a little while,
A little space, before it gutters;
Or in the madness a voice utters
Words full of calm that to us seem
To bear the dry light of a dream
And stain our waking with more sorrow.
The night of hate that covers earth,
The generous country of our birth,
The single land from which we borrow
All that is ours – air, insight, tears,
Our fragile lives – for a few years….
If this is not a moment of inspiration, pray, someone needs to tell me what is….this is too outstanding a piece of language for my tastes.
I like the “private smile”, “gutters” and “air, insight and tears” bit the most. They will probably stay with me till I die.
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