Apr. 5th, 2009

cerusee: a white redheaded girl in a classroom sitting by the window chewing on a pencil and looking bored (the sky is bleak and lovely)
I love the sound of this read aloud, especially the strong rhythm of those last two lines. I really like reading poems about God, although (because?) I'm an athiestic agnostic: like the idea of adaptation and reinterpretation, the personal idea of God, the interpretation of the idea, the imagery, the sense of it, personal address to it, the way in which is shapes and is shaped by the framework of one's personal universe--it's fascinating to me.


Robinson Jeffers, Untitled.

There is no God but God; he is all that exists,
And being alone does strangely. He is like an old Basque shepherd,
Who was brought to California fifty years ago,
He has always been alone, he talks to himself,
Solitude has got into his brain,
Beautiful and terrible things come from his mind. God is a man of war,
Whom can he strike but himself? God is a great poet:
Whom can he praise but himself?

September 2012

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