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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476810" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Old Gate Off Its Hinge</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Old gate off its hinge. <br>Matted like a lapwing in the long blond grass.<br>What is there to distract me from? <br>I pass, but not as a predator. <br>I seek the high field at the end <br>of this narrow dark road at dusk.<br>I’m out for stars. I’m out for solitude. <br>Like these deep cuts in the road <br>my scars have taken me out for a walk<br>in the gathering darkness, <br>nothing to keep in <br>nothing to let out.<br>The sumac denuded. <br>The last of the asters ruined.<br>There’s a farmhouse back here<br>abandoned years ago <br>like an old book in the basement<br>under the covers of its collapsing roof. <br>And the ghosts of two children <br>hidden deep in the woods<br>from the authorities, <br>autistic prodigies <br>who could fix anything mechanical, <br>clocks, watches, small engines<br>anything the neighbours brought them<br>but their own hearts and minds<br>and that’s how they lived for years, <br>with nothing but their own estrangement for company, <br>fixing things the neighbours broke.<br>A cage. But with the door open. <br>A road. But nowhere to go. <br>A house. But no one to shelter.<br>A mind. But no one to know it. <br>The chassis of a rusting car. <br>A bear. <br>I get caught in the glare <br>of my own mental headlights<br>wary of making more noise than I should.<br>And then my eyes <br>adjust my fear to the darkness again<br>and I’m not sure I should be here at all<br>unworthy of the silence, <br>unknown to the trees at the side of the road, <br>no clockwork universe <br>to bring these backwoods geniuses<br>that even they could fix.<br>A fox on the path. A startled bird. <br>The barking of a farmyard dog <br>way off in the low-key distance.<br>Stars in the ripening twilight. <br>A clearing with maple saplings to say<br>here nature picked up where it left off<br>and broken shards of moonlight<br>still clinging to the windowframes<br>as if it had to break through its own ice <br>to draw water from a stream.<br>Perseus holding Medusa’s head<br>above a barn drunker than it looks<br>swaying from side to side <br>gaping through its doorless loft in shock<br>at what is happening to it. <br>Aldebaran in Taurus, the Pleiades, <br>Castor, Pollux, Auriga and the kids, <br>an airliner leaving Ottawa without a sound, <br>and something that sweeps over me <br>like the shadow of a thought<br>with an owl for an eyelid.<br>So little harmony<br>so much tension among the stars<br>and their conflicting myths of origin<br>in the chaos and confusion of creation<br>and yet around here<br>in the stillness and profusion of their radiance<br>blessed and hexed alike <br>they all seem fixed. <br>Here where the unknown breathes<br>and eternity doesn’t seem <br>like anybody’s business but its own.</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>
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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=476810" data-title="Old Gate Off Its Hinge de Patrick White" data-description="Old gate off its hinge. 
Matted like a lapwing in the long blond grass.
What is there to distract me from? 
I pass, but not as a predator. 
I seek the high field at the end 
of this narrow dark road at dusk.
I’m out for stars. I’m out for soli..."></div>
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