Reminds me a great deal of John 14:2-3:
You’re at the peak of ripeness here my friend. Patricia said it well. A story of a man with a foot in two worlds – waiting to transcend … with the lapping waves keeping pace with an old man’s breathing (images of a Galilee shore come to mind here), in a place where neither fear nor nightmare disturbs the peace and acceptance of the moment, knowing it is but a simple journey into the Lord’s embrace, much in alignment with the way that Jesus must have felt, on that final evening supper with his disciples.
Reminds me a great deal of John 14:2-3
“My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.
Thank you, Sir. And, always: Thank you, Sir. And, always at the bottom of the pile of excrement, lurks the nefarious Lenin with his baleful glare and his insidiously bloodthirsty need for vengeance. I remember reading one that the philosopher and socialist, Bertrand Russell, after meeting him, remarked at how delightedly Lenin spoke not only of brutal executions but of the immediate sufferings of those who were being executed. I think it was as if the entire Soviet Union had been constructed by Lenin as his personal vengeance machine. (And then again, having to wake up to Krupskaya's horse-face every morning must have further antagonized his mean streak.)
You already known, and have: You already know, and have known for a couple of years, how much I esteem the grandeur of your cosmic Poetry, and how much I value your comments on this poem. And this particular comment reigns supreme over all the comments with which you have blessed my poems. Reading this, and then trying to write a response, reminds me of something that Wallace Stevens told a nun, Sister Bernetta Quinn, who had become one of his most perceptive readers and commentators---about how her comments meant to him not only on the literary level, but on a personal level that most other comments could not reach. That is how your comments work, as well: they touch my soul, and this particular comment has done that supremely.
I am very glad you chose this poem to comment upon, because your comments become, for me, as sort of validation. I rank you among the great Poets whom I most deeply and personally admire, and when you affix a comment to one of my poems it comes from that very realm where the stars are.
Because I happen to believe that I am in the final stages of my life, regardless of how long or how little those stages might last, I wanted to write a farewell poem, the way Stevens did when he wrote, for example, "The Planet On The Table." Because I love and admire the Early (and Earliest) Christians so much, I wanted to write from, and within, the world on earth that they knew; primarily, Galilee, where Jesus walked and to which He returned after His Resurrection when He shattered, forever, the power of death upon us. And, from a practical motive, I wanted to write a poem that I can try to recall, or even read, when my own time comes---if I can retain my right mind when that time comes.
Thanks, again, for taking the time to read this poem and for putting your comment upon it. Your interpretation is, as usual, very accurate, and very observant of the way the poem is intended to work, and I appreciate it. But what I appreciate even more is the shrewd and confident spiritual/cosmic perspective that lives, thrives, and resonates within your poems, your comments, and . . . I most heartily believe . . . your entire life as a Poet.
we’ve only begun to scratch the surface:
Makes you wonder how little we really know, about the fundamental principles of universe. It seems we’ve only begun to scratch the surface of understanding. And I don’t think we’ll ever fully know the whole of it.
Always an error of judgment:
I think we all encounter someone like this in the course of relationships. It’s bound to happen sooner or later. It’s how we figure out not to repeat the mistake, that’s of great importance. And a mistake of this kind, is always an error of judgment.
No longer the brightest among: No longer the brightest among the bright
but still she speaks
this just speaks volumes. A beautiful poem with lots of layers which I'm looking forward to delving in. Gabby
welcome back:
Self-inflicted wounds are always the most painful, especially when we said or did wrong causing hurt that spoiled a close relationship. That kind of pain always compounds upon regret. And it’s a bitch of a pill to swallow, knowing that we did it to ourselves.
That said, welcome back.
the excrement of mass genocide:
One can only be constipated when full of excrement. Communism is, and has always been, the excrement of mass genocide… be it Stalin, Pol Pot, or Mao Tse-tung.
The Gulag Archipelago by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, lays these facts to bare succinctly.
Keep on keeping on:
That’s perfectly alright Starward. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate. And it’s easy to fall behind in doing anything, let alone reading – when there’s so much going on. That said, I hope everything is going well for you and that you’re feeling better. That’s the most important thing… for you to get well and get your full strength back. Life is never an easy road for most of us, myself included. And sometimes all we can do, is keep on keeping on, the very best we can. Whenever I find myself in that place, I often think of Kipling’s words in this verse…
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
Many gracious moons of thanks:
The soul is a strange instrument – something akin to a tuning fork, that it can feel melancholy from a world away.
That we can dance or sing or cry, and actually resonate with far off vibrations from other souls, is one of the soul’s greatest miracles.
And it’s always a pleasure, someone of your talent still reading my stuff. Especially when this place becomes, what seems to be at times, a quiet desert.
And most especially, when I have doubts and begin to wonder, if anyone even reads poetry any more. Poetry is a place of contemplation and reflection, and sometimes I think the world is moving too fast to appreciate poetry.
But the fact that you and a few others are still around, is what keeps me going. Many gracious moons of thanks.
~/~
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