Ulysses and Eumaeus
by Marc Chagall
I have hymns you haven't heard.
There is an upward soaring
in which I bend close.
You can barely distinguish me
from the things that kneel before me.
They are like sheep, they are grazing.
I am the shepherd on the brow of the hill.
When evening draws them home
I follow after, the dark bridge thudding,
and the vapor rising from their backs
hides my own homecoming.
The Book of Hours I, 40
He disappears into the things he examines, becomes one with them. How does this happen, except through the writing of poems or songs?
ReplyDeleteYes. And that is what it is to write from "inside"...
ReplyDeleteSomehow reminds me of Erin.
ReplyDelete