Wednesday, 21 January 2009

The lament of hope

rendered mute by such infinite perfection
nature's radiance, to which a measure cannot be made
to which, in every inexhaustible detail
the world is made, and I become;

I would quite happily die a thousand times over
if for but one brief, plaintive moment,
I could live up to the ideal that shines from your eyes,
the compassion that glows from your smile


a moment where what cannot be said
cannot be made, cannot be shown
finds release, and becomes as to which
life before was merely a shadow at night
witnessing the sunrise of your soul

I bask, and see, everything that could ever be
reflected, carried aloft from time's grip
the eagle's claws, reminding that each precious day
I should hope to see your world more clearly
and make myself a better me

the tiny spiders crawl along the wall;
the droplet that slides down the cup;
a blackbird upon a branch;
the red copper veins in the autumn leaf;
with fresh eyes anew, through the prism of you

an illumination, a source, a spectral symphony
do you know the music you bring,
as each day your footsteps sing your approach?

2 comments:

findingmywingsinlife said...

This is a quite interesting blog, I found it after seeing your comment on Nature Diary (and agreeing with your sentiments). I read your profile and I must say, I've never heard of anyone besides myself who actually liked the movie Magnolia.

Aren O. Týr said...

Indeed, it is one of my favourite films.

Perhaps its unpopularity is due to both its lack of a clear narrative and its abstract ambiguity.

It is a film that bears (and indeed, improves) with repeated viewings, full of pathos and depth.

It is a film, I think, rather link Lost In Translation: similar in that the particular qualities the films have will very much divide opinion between those who love them and those that hate them. And with that divide, I find correspondingly, that the people I most closely identify with are those - relatively few - who are on the side of the divide of loving them.

Art such as these often say more about the type of person who submits to it rather than what the art itself has to say, I believe.