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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476821" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Out Of So Much</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Out of so much experience <br>so little to signify it<br>in a language <br>extraterrestrial life could understand<br>about our relationship with gravity <br>and what's crudely human about being a human<br>we don't even have in common with ourselves. <br>Out of so much sorrow <br>so many tears shed <br>like oceans of wounded salt <br>like bruised orchids of blood <br>like the lightyears between windows <br>living next door to each other <br>there is so much vastness between us <br>in an expanding universe <br>in the way we reach out to each other <br>like the stars in wavelengths of farewell<br>toward the red end of the spectrum. <br>Out of so much radiance <br>so much shining <br>not even the ash of anything <br>to show for it <br>when the last ghost has left town<br>with leaving so much <br>as a loveletter of smoke <br>propped up against the mirror.<br>Out of so much that was seen once only for good <br>and for a moment understood <br>until we started thinking about it <br>my eyes taste of what they've seen <br>like iron apples ripening in the rain <br>no one can take a bite out of <br>to improve their education<br>by learning how to bury the dead <br>because most of what I've seen <br>is pain without insight <br>pain without eyes <br>like impact craters in the skull of the moon.<br>A war of windows in a world without vision<br>without stars <br>without dawn and moonrise.<br>Viral eyes that abhor stained-glass <br>as much as they do the godless clarity<br>of the most advanced telescopes<br>playing Russian roulette with the stars<br>to prove the Big Bang was cosmic suicide<br>and we're here like living proof of the afterlife <br>of its bad karma<br>like a hunting religion in an agrarian society. <br>Out of so much mystic specificity <br>so little sense of earthly union <br>in the fractious sameness <br>that tries to blame everyone else <br>for why things are falling apart <br>as fast as they're coming together. <br>Five petals open. <br>And no flower blooms.<br>The sun rides a victory chariot through Rome.<br>The moon a deathcart through a slum. <br>But the stars know<br>how much the night keeps to itself.<br>How much it can't say<br>when the silence clears the sky of birds. <br>How much there is to express <br>that leaves even the dead speechless. <br>Out of so much verbiage <br>so many words<br>so many opinions<br>stuck like bats in burrs <br>just beyond the porchlight.<br>Out of so much hatred of life <br>out of so much hatred <br>of light and water <br>air earth and fire<br>compressed like a fist of coal <br>around the blood diamonds of the ideologues<br>who write political suicide notes <br>for whole nations by proxy <br>who don't know how to bleed for themselves<br>or convince the dead <br>they died for someone else. <br>Out of so many words <br>so many civilizations <br>from the Tower of Babel <br>to the New York Metropolitan <br>with its polyglot fire alarms <br>warning Alexander <br>about the approach of Caesar<br>and his love of books.<br>Out of so many voices <br>that spoke like trees in the wind <br>or out of burning bushes<br>and the light of the stars<br>or the thunder that follows the revelation<br>that it's raining on a lifeless Mars.<br>Out of so much clamour and noise of insight. <br>Out of so many whispers of stars <br>and rumours of waves <br>held up to both our shell-shocked ears <br>like skulls of oceanic awarenessness <br>that found us washed up on a beach somewhere <br>after some serious weather.<br>Out of so many poems and paintings and heartfelt polygraphs.<br>Out of so much confessing. <br>Out of so many speechs.<br>So many prayers and blessings<br>So many dead languages that carried their mother-tongue <br>like mitochondria in the DNA of their mouths<br>down through the generations <br>so that every living word <br>contains the corpse of a metaphor<br>like a mummy under a pyramid <br>or Lazarus catching his breath <br>to be interviewed<br>about a life after death <br>that looked exactly like his<br>when he woke up to this all over again<br>with nothing much to say about anything. <br>Out of so many with so much to say <br>how few are listening <br>as if their lies depended on it.</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=476821" data-title="Out Of So Much de Patrick White" data-description="Out of so much experience 
so little to signify it
in a language 
extraterrestrial life could understand
about our relationship with gravity 
and what's crudely human about being a human
we don't even have in common with ourselves. 
Out of so much..."></div>
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