Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476657" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>I Stand Where The Listening Begins</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I stand where the listening begins <br>as if my voice were just another one of the echoes <br>and my tongue were the tip of an edgy precipice <br>that doesn't dare make a move <br>over an immeasurable abyss of eyes <br>that nobody belongs to. <br>This is a seeing that's older than the stars<br>that were born of it <br>like a mirror is born of the shining. <br>Like a body is born of the mind <br>and takes on the shape of a universe<br>as an expressionist gesture of classical reserve. <br>In the great ocean of being before it turned into everyone <br>our eyes weren't beaded like two drops of water<br>strung through our nose<br>like a statement we were trying to make. <br>They were waves.<br>Waves of water. <br>Waves of light. <br>Waves of thought and feeling.<br>They were waterbirds that came and went <br>without leaving.<br>They were meteorological events <br>in the emotional life of the sea <br>when it played alone with itself like weather. <br>We didn't evolve hands to prove we had a grip on things. <br>We didn't evolve brains to prove we were intelligent.<br>We're not nuggets of insight <br>panned from the mindstream<br>that runs down the world mountain <br>in a rush of gold. <br>I stand where I can hear the night <br>breathing like a shadow in its own darkness <br>and whatever I am not <br>is as real as whatever I am.<br>And my sorrows dropp away <br>like the black fruit of ruined bells <br>and my joys know a freedom <br>no holy war ever deserved. <br>Here my death answers to my life <br>and not the other way around.<br>My beginnings are not justified by my ends<br>and my solitude is so wholly itself <br>it embraces everything<br>as if it were space<br>and time were its only friend. <br>This is a poetic state.<br>A dynamic mode of creative annihilation.<br>This is a phoenix blooming in its own fire. <br>This is life. <br>This is the universe full of bright ideas <br>that come to it like stars in the darkness.<br>This is the white mare of the full moon in the high field <br>with the gates open<br>like wings growing out of her shoulders.<br>This is a space that is so spontaneously immediate <br>that you receive the reply <br>long before you've even asked the question. <br>It doesn't take thousands of thoughtyears <br>for the light to get here.<br>A flower blooms. <br>A star comes out. <br>It's as simple as that. <br>You lift one veil of the mystery like an eyelid. <br>Nothing has a history. <br>The old man remembers nothing. <br>The old woman forgets her name. <br>Once they were seabeds of meaning. <br>Now they're just water. <br>And everything is ok with that. <br>People go grey <br>and turn into clouds in the mountains <br>just to catch the last of the light <br>and give their lives some colour.<br>And then it's night again <br>and the dancing chandeliers of the stars <br>that are burning like legends <br>to make a name and a myth for themselves<br>fall like constellations to earth <br>and shatter like the rainbows of youth. <br>Every dawn has a taste of the sunset in it. <br>What's the end of anything <br>if not the dark side of its beginnings? <br>I am the fool of a freedom <br>that lets things be whatever they want to be <br>deep within the heavy fruit of a compassionate heart<br>that ripens in its own lucidity. <br>There are worms. <br>There are birds. <br>There's a green star in the apple core. <br>My skin is the chameleon of the sun going down. <br>I know how to swim through stone and water. <br>There are fish in my treetops <br>and birds in my roots<br>and when I drown <br>it's the sun in the sea <br>and nothing ever really goes out.<br>Everytime I open my mouth to sing<br>this is where the muse <br>puts a finger to her lips<br>to teach me what I'm talking about. <br>I'm a star when I write. <br>First I let go of the light. <br>And then the children point fingers at me <br>and say in mutual recognition <br>of the stories they make up on the go <br>there you are <br>just as we foretold.<br>It's the same way with water <br>when it's lost in a desert of sand and stars. <br>Sometimes it takes a mirage to find your way home. <br>Death gapes like the jawbone of a mummy<br>and writes like a pyramid<br>as if it wanted to make all things last forever. <br>But when life picks up the pen <br>around the fires of the stars<br>to whisper into its own ear<br>things that only solitude <br>can suggest to the night <br>its poems are always tents on the move.<br>The moon sailing paper lifeboats down a river <br>like waterlilies <br>blooming in the pale flames<br>of their lunar immolations<br>as if each were a white phoenix<br>rising above its own ashes and smoke<br>like someone dreaming of swans.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<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=476657" data-title="I Stand Where The Listening Begins de Patrick White" data-description="I stand where the listening begins 
as if my voice were just another one of the echoes 
and my tongue were the tip of an edgy precipice 
that doesn't dare make a move 
over an immeasurable abyss of eyes 
that nobody belongs to. 
This is a seeing t..."></div>
</div>
</div>