My first notion of infinity came in math class, the first time I heard about the number line going on forever in each direction. Your swan is a much lovelier image than that.
I remember that number line. In our class the line had arrows at each end. I was 7 or 8 when I got my glimpse of eternity. I was trying to get my donkey to back up to our stone wall so I could climb over and get the almonds from the tree on the other side. Pushing against my donkey, Dimitri, I was looking through his mane past our gray wall past the deep green cypress trees in front of the brown/tan almond tree and then, all of a sudden, beyond that, the white clouds and the deep blue sky of Greece. At that moment I knew that the blue never ended and also, at that exact same moment I became certain of my own mortality/death. Quite an extraordinary moment that I remember perfectly 58 years later and it has been a source of great comfort ever since. Beyond strange.
It was. There was some immediate editing and some more over the years but it was an honor to be around, to be in the room when it happened. I just finished one this morning after looking at some photos my wife put up on Facebook about a green gate in Aix-en-Provence.
I don’t think I can express how powerful I think this is. You capture both the sheer immensity and the significance and insignificance of our awkward attempts of quantifying time.
I wish I knew what to say in response except that some poems arrive like a shit load of snow sliding off a metal roof (all of which we have here). When I reread this thing I am quite taken aback by it and wonder where it came from. I sometimes feel the imposter's syndrome when all I am doing is recording.
Plugged into the universe? Perhaps - and as a poet on a higher frequency than most of us, then. Wherever it’s from (I’m pretty sure it’s your soul) it’s an incredible piece.
My first notion of infinity came in math class, the first time I heard about the number line going on forever in each direction. Your swan is a much lovelier image than that.
I remember that number line. In our class the line had arrows at each end. I was 7 or 8 when I got my glimpse of eternity. I was trying to get my donkey to back up to our stone wall so I could climb over and get the almonds from the tree on the other side. Pushing against my donkey, Dimitri, I was looking through his mane past our gray wall past the deep green cypress trees in front of the brown/tan almond tree and then, all of a sudden, beyond that, the white clouds and the deep blue sky of Greece. At that moment I knew that the blue never ended and also, at that exact same moment I became certain of my own mortality/death. Quite an extraordinary moment that I remember perfectly 58 years later and it has been a source of great comfort ever since. Beyond strange.
A pure moment of epiphany.
It was. There was some immediate editing and some more over the years but it was an honor to be around, to be in the room when it happened. I just finished one this morning after looking at some photos my wife put up on Facebook about a green gate in Aix-en-Provence.
A single point is infinity in itself.
yeah buddy. or how about old William Blake's take on it-
"To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour"
This is fantastic
Thank you. We are alike in our appreciation of big distances/time.
Yes! Infinity is not the artist's accurate representation of trees growing smaller and closer as distance increases. It is exactly opposite.
From this moment in time
Infinity is a great cone
Pointed at our hearts.
But not much is visible
As if cloud hidden.
That is an interesting way to look at it.
Here's to ripples! We really are on the same page!! I love the (to me) maternal or maybe authorial care that the swan has for every molecule.
It was maternal, my mother used to say things like that about us, that she cared for us even if we were small and filthy, which we all were.
Ha!
I don’t think I can express how powerful I think this is. You capture both the sheer immensity and the significance and insignificance of our awkward attempts of quantifying time.
I wish I knew what to say in response except that some poems arrive like a shit load of snow sliding off a metal roof (all of which we have here). When I reread this thing I am quite taken aback by it and wonder where it came from. I sometimes feel the imposter's syndrome when all I am doing is recording.
Plugged into the universe? Perhaps - and as a poet on a higher frequency than most of us, then. Wherever it’s from (I’m pretty sure it’s your soul) it’s an incredible piece.