Another poem by Wallace Stevens.
I am not bummed by what I have seen. His poem last night beckoned me to review my world to discover angles I had not known. This night's poem seems to say that most things are, indeed, just things and have no more stories or angles to discover. However, sometimes you find your "blackbird". You realize that "Only, here and there, an old sailor" waits to be found. The old sailor could be anybody, anything with stories that is hidden behind, in this case, a grizzled and sleeping, drunk face. Don't discount anybody or anything. Thinking on a blackbird could make you part of cannon. Considering suburbia could be the base of another meaningful poem.
Favorite line: "People are not going/To dream of baboons and periwinkles."
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
What do you think of today's poem?