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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=418147" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Interpretation</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">And they cannot be recaptured except <br>in this mind, in all of the universe.<br>It’s what old men do while they still can, <br>A substitute for all that they can’t: <br>repeated flights to unseen glories<br>they once passed through too hurriedly.<br>Each has his own specific details, <br>of commonly haunted ecstacies<br>we like to believe are beyond compare, <br>and too much with us to ever release.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mine were simple things: <br>the creaking of a certain window frame -<br>no, there was more than that.<br>The bedroom light was the first sign.<br>It flicked on and a sudden surge <br>of wattage shot through me. <br>Seconds later, darkness <br>and I’d have to wait<br>‘til the window creaked <br>and her face took shape<br>through the open frame.<br>She always smiled. <br>And for sixty minutes <br>the net of the heavens<br>swept down and lifted me. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or, at 8 on winter nights<br>-after I’d whistled the sign –<br>(and Andy Williams was finished) <br>the hall lamp was lit, <br>the front door opened <br>and she’d step out, <br>in anorak with scarf, <br>tight trousers and <br>a couple of inches of heel.<br>She was only five feet three.<br>The first few seconds were killing <br>in their thrill. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or under the light<br>at old maggie’s gate: <br>coming out from her visit, <br>backlit, chatting to Maggie<br>the blue flames of her eyes on mine<br>striking me light as air, <br>excited as any charged particle.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But age and time <br>keep grinding away.<br>The art of nature <br>so finely woven, <br>so perfectly pitched, <br>self renews through us <br>adapts itself beyond us; <br>a smouldering blaze<br>that endlessly burns <br>mortality for fuel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Last night I dreamt for the first time, <br>of her and I in black and white, <br>faded images of the two of us; <br>riven with ambiguity<br>and just as intense as ever.<br>Walking together, <br>out of the scene of the dream, <br>she pointed out a plum tree; <br>and when I looked I could see <br>only a lime, in shades of green, <br>hanging with unripened fruit.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Jim+Hogg">Jim Hogg</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=418147" data-title="Interpretation de Jim Hogg" data-description="And they cannot be recaptured except 
in this mind, in all of the universe.
It’s what old men do while they still can, 
A substitute for all that they can’t: 
repeated flights to unseen glories
they once passed through too hurriedly.
Each has ..."></div>
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