This is a poem about the introvert--a poem for the stoic. It's about looking at the ordinary and seeing it in a different light. Maybe, it's for the stargazer looking into the black sky knowing there are sparks of stars hidden behind the night.
Go inside a stone
That would be my way.
Let somebody else become a dove
Or gnash with a tiger's tooth.
I am happy to be a stone.
From the outside the stone is a riddle:
No one knows how to answer it.
Yet within, it must be cool and quiet
Even though a cow steps on it full weight,
Even though a child throws it in a river;
The stone sinks, slow, unperturbed
To the river bottom
Where the fishes come to knock on it
And listen.
I have seen sparks fly out
When two stones are rubbed,
So perhaps it is not dark inside after all;
Perhaps there is a moon shining
From somewhere, as though behind a hill—
Just enough light to make out
The strange writings, the star-charts
On the inner walls.
image found on Pinterest
Charles Simic is seventy-five years old and still writing poetry. Here's why: Why I Still Write Poetry
.
No comments:
Post a Comment