Robert Sargent (1991)
I would like to say something for things as they are, in themselves,
Not standing for anything else, multiform, legion
In their fleeting exactitude,
Fashioned in intricate and elusive ways, individual,
Each like nothing else precisely. I am speaking
Of observable things, this chair,
This leaf, that slab, the sun, dust, a fly,
Sometimes interacting, sometimes not, depending
On the nature of each, but always
And ever changing, coming into being, vanishing;
May be observed or not; beautiful or ugly
Only as someone's opinion;
Neither right nor wrong; neutral; concerned only with
Their presence here, enduring their given span:
The manifold things of the world
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
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1 comment:
from the Poetry Anthology (1912-2002) Joseph Parisi and Stephen Young
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