MANY TREES WALK ALONG SIDE OF THE OLD MOUNTAIN TRAIL
This is not poetry, I'm sure you know. But, I will bring you to poetry if given the slightest chance.
This is simply, as Wallace Stevens has said, the triumph of the mighty imagination, and I would add the triumph of imagination for me on this dreary day in the southern Appalachian mountains, made possible by my computer and my i Photo.
A major poet I studied, one who greatly influenced me, is Wallace Stevens, who wrote: "We never arrive intellectually. But emotionally we arrive constantly (as in poetry, happiness, high mountains, vistas.)" from "Adagia" by Wallace Stevens.
Puella Parvula by Wallace Stevens
Every thread of summer is at last unwoven.
By one caterpillar is great Africa devoured
And Gibraltar is dissolved like spit in the wind.
But over the wind, over the legends of its roaring,
The elephant on the roof and its elephantine blaring,
The bloody lion in the yard at night or ready to spring
From the clouds in the midst of trembling trees
Making a great gnashing, over the water wallows
Of a vacant sea declaiming with wide throat,
Over all these things the mighty imagination triumphs
Like a trumpet and says, in this season of memory,
When leaves fall like things mournful of the past,
Keep quite in the heart, O wild bitch, O mind
Gone wild, be what he tells you to be: Puella.
Write pax across the window pane. And then
Be still. The summarium in excelsis begins...
Flame, sound, fury, composed ... Hear what he says,
The dauntless master, as he starts the human tale.
Poem by Wallace Stevens. (Do not copy)
Do let "the mighty imagination"triumph.
post by Nancy Simpson