There is a place to which I often go,
Not by planning to, but by a flow
Away from all existence, to a cold
Lucidity, whose will is uncontrolled.
Here, the mills of God are never slow.
The landscape in its geological prime
Dissolves to show its quintessential slime.
A million stars are blotted out. I think
Of each historic passion as a blink
That happened to the sad eye of Time.
But residues of meaning still remain,
As darkest myths meander through the pain
Towards a final formula of light.
I, too, reject this clarity of sight.
What cannot be explained, do not explain.
The mundane language of the senses sings
Its own interpretations. Common things
Become, by virtue of their commonness,
An argument against their nakedness
That dies of cold to find the truth it brings.
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Comments
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Yes, the flow of the poem is so beautiful. The spirituality, the ecstasy is felt. Beautifuly crafted poem. I've fallen in love with Ezekiel's poetry after reading this.
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I really like the last stanza. I think Walt Whitman, if alive, would have embraced Ezekiel and said, "well crafted, young man." There is so much truth woven throughout this poem, and somehow (to me) the last stanza brings it out best. The idea ofthe processs of some form of death to reveal truth is just so deep. "Mundane language of the senses sings" is powerful on the level of auditory reception and perception. Mundane--ordinary, commonplace, not outstanding in form or fashion; combined with sings, which is neutral in its tonality. There is no sense that the singing is good, bad, off-key, rather that it is presented in a lyrical fashion. "Common things" serving as an "argument against their nakedness" is another great line. I like the idea of the simple/baseness of something being exposed in the same simple/baseness fashion. It is not over-analyzed, has no big procedure or vocabulary to lay it bare... and then the element of death and cold. Wow, just great substance to ponder.
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