Dichten

A blog of Poetry: to say, to speak, the verb for to make poetry, dichten. Poetry is the condition for the possibility of philosophy, the condition that fulfills its own condition, a sort of causa sui that doesn't leap but grounds in its disdain for the question of ground. This blog hates itself in its metaphysics, but achieves the height of nothing...

About Me

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Location: Chicago, United States

"In addition to the choice of words, positioning of words, and the sequencing of words, it is above all the entire overall resonance of the poetic telling that "expresses" the so-called meaning. Yet this overall resonance of the telling is not simply the result of the positioning of words and arranging of lines, but rather the reverse: the overall resonance of the telling is the initial, creative resonance that first intimates the language; it is the origin not only for the arranging and positioning of the words, but also for the choice of words, an origin that in its resonance constantly anticipates the use of words. This overall resonance of the telling, however, is from the outset determined by the fundamental attunement of the poetry, which takes form within the inner outline of the whole. The fundamental attunement for its part grows out of the particular metaphysical locale of the poetry in question." Martin Heidegger, Hoelderlin's hymns "Germania" and "The Rhine", translated by William McNeill, not yet published.

Sunday, March 06, 2005

Epitome of Beauty

View with your passion the sunrise of hope,
rising as bubbles in the champagne of heaven,
the end of the process we begin to enjoy,
only when the future looks short and the past long,

My life, the world, ameliorating each day,
early warning of happy color,
sparkling sun from so far away,
where life begins again and saves

us, a two or more conjoined, a one,
as everything together makes nothing
or two, the blue and snow, a glow
together - the weather gets better

even after summer goes running the marathon
flying soaring like the eagle,
far far away - becoming intelligent beings
on another planet in another universe

that imitates our own in its splendor,
its ultimate sound, symbol, harmonious
peace, and my pipe calls me to leave
my computer and relax in front of ani

walking peace, talking joy, silent bliss.
Tranquility ineluctably overcomes the stale
noise of silence, the dissonance of the
background, that ends the world of me

endlessly, a limitless limit outside of which
we can think, but only a thinking of non-thinking.

The vacuum in which we subsist has boundaries
that enclose the possible world of ironic paradox.

A hairy toy seal stares at me as I surmise my mother
bearing the weight of the world on my shoulders
and never appreciating my achievements.

Looking down on me as avoiding the harsh reality of life.

But there is no reality to avoid - everyday we face life

and win our battles just in surviving.



Art is doing.

posted by irrefutable | 4:16 AM

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