July 18, 2011

Sometimes a Man

Blue Vase, by Paul Cézanne

Sometimes a man rises from the supper table
and goes outside. And he keeps going
because somewhere to the east there's a church.
His children bless his name as if he were dead.

Another man stays at home until he dies,
stays with plates and glasses.
So then it is his children who go out
into the world, seeking the church that he forgot.

The Book of Hours II, 19

5 comments:

  1. whoa!

    whoa. what else do you say, other than yes, and why?

    xo
    erin

    ReplyDelete
  2. and,

    my parents set the table:)

    xo
    erin

    ReplyDelete
  3. Or, sometimes a man rises from the supper table and goes to the church, always to the church, and his children want to learn how to bless his name.

    Why do we always want what is other than our experience? Is dissatisfaction built into our being? Longing for what we don't know, didn't receive?

    ReplyDelete
  4. Others more charitable than I at today's words..


    On Reading More of Rilke

    Sometimes a man rises from the supper table
    and goes outside. And he keeps going
    because somewhere to the east there's a church.
    His children bless his name as if he were dead.

    Another man stays at home until he dies,
    stays with plates and glasses.
    So then it is his children who go out
    into the world, seeking the church that he forgot.
    ...

    From one green hilltop in the vallies of time
    Someone opines that a man’s position
    Is untenable
    Damned if you do damned if you don’t.

    What about the wife of the man.
    What about the man’s lover
    Who makes his life at home bearable.
    Who provides the honey for the family
    Who washes the linens
    Who makes the love
    In her humid nest

    Welcoming the man there
    At all hours.

    O Rilke. Sit with me.
    Think, sit like Rodin’s Thinker.
    Ponder your words
    So antithetical to perspective
    Such anathema to me.

    Jen "Could Not Resist" Andrews ....

    ReplyDelete

"Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night."

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

Go ahead, bloom recklessly!