Sunday, September 12, 2021

Thought for the Day

Love sees what is invisible.
~ Simone Weil
_________________________

Quoted from Simone Weil, Waiting for God (Harper Perennial Modern Classics, 2009), page 149

Simone Weil (1909-1943), French Religious Philosopher, Essayist, Poet, Dramatist, Social Critic, Political Activist

"The Question of God", Public Broadcasting Service

1 comment:

  1. I'm reading Zaretsky's book on her now.

    I came across your blog looking for some poets I once knew from One Stop Poetry. I knew Jenne Andrews' work:

    For Cairo, Burning
    by
    Jenne' R. Andrews

    They that see a great light
    Shall all be changed.. Luke…

    In lux dubitas--- doubt
    Within light
    I travel north over frozen lands
    Into the storm of gilded sand

    Seated in the wind
    We bridge the spent moon
    Heading east
    Where morning is
      
    We seek an end to tyranny
    Our fears
    Go fallow, like the corn field
    Geese come
    To break the hull, peck
    And split the chaff

    So is faith seeded
    So does fear take wing
    Transformed
    Swan lifting on the night
      
    iii

    The eyes of all
    Wait upon us

    But we are the watchers
    And those who bring forth.
    We act upon the hills
    With the seed flung from our hands

    We raise up growth
    From a charred field
    That which spills
    From our pockets
    Is that which brings
    The wheat.

    iv

    I seek you in a delirium
    I am spent in the poppies
       
    I dress myself
    In the vestments of the owl
    I look out from a rookery
    In the crags

    I soar over the parting sea,
    That wave of the lost
    That makes way
    For something in white silk
    Draped, disguised.

    No one sees
    Who that one is
    It passes, unnamed
    Would you come,
    upon this clear
    Midnight
    Like a thousand winds
    A hundred stallions from the heavens

    Would the black waters part

    v

    Some say the broken
    Of the desert
    Cannot handle freedom.

    This is a lie.
    Humble the liars
    Who say the people
    Are blind
    And without clean souls
    And cannot find their way.

    Freedom rides in upon a clear midnight
    Veiled, yet palpable
    They that mourn and burn

    See her
    By the light of the dawn
    And fall upon her
    Like bread.









    Response to Jenne' R. Andrews’ For Cairo, Burning

    I dress myself
    In the vestments of the owl
    I look out from a rookery
    In the crags…

    You conjure with these words,
    strike a bass chord,
    forebode...
    you call on many allusions here
    and remind us
    the owl is a night hunter,
    an omen,
    a fortune teller.
    He is wise
    to rest by day
    in the rookery
    atop dusty rafters
    in the grainery
    for his best work is done by night
    and in the context of Cairo,
    he plots his revolution
    in the crags
    with brother pigeon and sister swallow.
    From it all,
    your words sing of a love
    and of a wellspring of hope
    which must be at the heart
    of all revolutions.



    http://parolavivace.blogspot.com/2011/02/re-post-cairo-burning.html


    Letter to Jenne Andrews

    Jenne,
     
    May I post this:
     
    Response to Jenne' R. Andrews’ For Cairo, Burning
    I couldn't have written a better poem than yours that captures the soul of what is happening in Cairo.  Your poem is about the aspirations of people not about politics and all the gobblygoop attached to the events in Egypt.  I think your poem is attempting to express what Ché spoke about when he said:
     
    At the risk of seeming ridiculous, let me say that the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love. It is impossible to think of a genuine revolutionary lacking this quality... We must strive every day so that this love of living humanity will be transformed into actual deeds, into acts that serve as examples, as a moving force.
     
    Whatever comes from the events in Egypt, we must hope that there are those people who act out of love.  You dance with this idea in your poem when you write of faith and clean souls.
     
     
    Warm regards,
     
    Ted Richards (The pseudonym I used to blogpost before I retired.)

    Prose Form:

    You conjure with these words, strike a bass chord, forebode...you call on many allusions here and remind us the owl is a night hunter, an omen, a fortune teller. He is wise to rest by day in the rookery atop dusty rafters in the grainery for his best work is done by night and in the context of Cairo, he plots his revolution in the crags with brother pidgeon and sister swallow. From it all, your words sing of a wellspring of hope which must be at the heart of all revolutions.

    February 3, 2011 at 8:25 PM

    ReplyDelete