The language is fractured but, I think, not meaningless. How is a person to know the grandiose and darting mind of God in the midst of dishtowels and pieces of laundry fuzzing out of each other? What is the great throbbing beating? I don't know, but the whole thing says domestic life in a new way.
I awake possessed by God
and annex the darting mind
to replace it and make it know
flung up in a dishtowel
with a sweater fuzzing out of my skirt
But what should I obey or own
if I swallow my sense and my sword
in a great throbbing beating in my face?
Hello, hello, hello....
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A favorite from what I've read of Pablo Neruda's 225 odes. His best are a little far out, like this one. I like the idea of the dict... -
From the 20th c., here's a mysterious thing. What is the writer thinking? Is it just that the name Galileo and his awakening, changing, ...
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I don't think Gudding is pursuing his poems any more, and that's a shame. This just lobs peace at me. I consider this a prose poem...
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