Neil Hester

All poems © Neil Hester unless otherwritten

Location: North Carolina, United States

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Stevensian Austin

I'm heading to Austin for UIL State Competition for choir and orchestra, so I'll be out for a few days. I apologize for not doing this entry earlier; I intended on making a more elaborate entry a bit sooner in the week, but never got to it. Of course, we all know what to do when pressed for time:


Yellow Afternoon

It was in the earth only
That he was at the bottom of things
And of himself. There he could say
Of this I am, this is the patriarch,
This it is that answers when I ask,
This is the mute, the final sculpture
Around which silence lies on silence.
This repose alike in springtime
And, arbored and bronzed, in autumn.

He said I had this that I could love,
As one loves visible and responsive peace,
As one loves one’s own being,
As one loves that which is the end
And must be loved, as one loves that
Of which one is a part as in a unity,
A unity that is the life one loves,
So that one lives all the lives that comprise it
As the life of the fatal unity of war.

Everything comes to him
From the middle of his field. The odor
Of earth penetrates more deeply than any word.
There he touches his being. There as he is
He is. The thought that he had found all this
Among me, in a woman- she caught his breath-
But he came back as one comes back from the sun
To lie on ones bed in the dark, close to a face
Without eyes or mouth, that looks at one and speaks.

By Wallace Stevens


Have fun with that. Take care 'til next,



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