crashinglybeautiful : Eugene Berman, “Memory” A dream (to call it a dream) in which I can believe, in face of the object, A dream no longer a dream, a thing, Of things as they are, as the blue guitar After long strumming on certain nights Gives the touch of the senses, not of the hand, But the very senses as they touch The wind-gloss. Or as daylight comes, Like light in a mirroring of cliffs, Rising upward from a sea of ex. – Canto XVIII of Wallace Stevens’s The Man with the Blue
Related posts:
Comments on this entry are closed.