Tuesday, April 11, 2006

a poem for fish

Edna St. Vincent Millay

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

5 little fish:

Blogger mysfit swam up to say...

i love the imagry at the end - because that is exactly how i feel about april...

5:48 PM  
Blogger Carl V. swam up to say...

Terrific, love the closing line. I love life too much to agree that life in itself is nothing but I'm sure I'm missing the point anyhow.

9:32 AM  
Blogger jenn see swam up to say...

i dunno, there are several points here, i think you've got them...

"life in itself is nothing" is one of those phrases that can be argued over indefinitely...

12:42 PM  
Blogger mysfit swam up to say...

so far, i've decided to stay out of this - life is nothing life is everything, everything and nothing, like chaos and order, look a lot alike from far enough away - but don't let me get metaphyisical on yo asses...

9:27 PM  
Blogger jenn see swam up to say...

mmmmmm...metaphysical ass...

10:01 PM  

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