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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476823" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Over Here, You See</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Over here, you see, this is where I keep <br>a hospice for the strawdogs and voodoo dolls <br>that wander in off the road like spiritual emergencies <br>that have had enough of being used at sacred rituals. <br>I made peace between my blessings and my curses, <br>blew the angels off the heads of the pins <br>they were dancing on like the axes of uninhabitable planets <br>stuck through my eyes, the splintered glass<br>of wreckless stars it took more than light years of tears <br>to wash from my seeing when everything looked so painful<br>and the angels were grinding reflecting mirrors <br>to give corneal transplants to the way I looked at things. <br>Away with the blessings. Away with the curses. <br>The doves and the crows, the veils and the bars, <br>and the way some stars burnt like meteor showers, <br>chimney sparks, with the radiant of a welder's arc<br>trying to repair the rip in the hull of my heart in drydock<br>whenever I scuttled it like the moon on a coral reef. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And this is the matrix of the lost and found <br>of all I've known and seen and couldn't find <br>any other context for other than the artificial paradise <br>of this womb in waiting everything that hasn't happened yet. <br>There are generations of orphans here<br>with toyboxes full of the enduring relics <br>their mothers left like endearing fossils <br>of a love that never came back to claim them.<br>Petrified butterflies among the sea life of the Burgess Shale. <br>I keep a place for them in my heart like a pressed flower <br>until they can root on their own, and bloom <br>like a star they can follow anywhere, and it's home. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is the dark closet where I hang my skeletons <br>like a wardrobe of mannequins that have worn <br>my skin from time to time like the flying carpets <br>of world-creating cosmic membranes blowing <br>shapeshifting bubbles into hyperspace like alternative lives <br>that occasionally pop on the razorwire of their umbilical cords<br>like prophylactic thorns on the miscarriage of a rose<br>as never to have existed, as Sophocles said, <br>is the best part of life, bar none. Whether you're dressed <br>like a zodiacal king in the cochineal robes of the universe, <br>or wear the richer rags of a man who walks naked. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And you don't want to know what's in there, <br>but over here in this chamber next to where <br>the picture-music has a sound proof room of its own <br>when its rehearsing the silence of the mystery that beguiles it <br>like a lyric of blood in deep irreconcilable exile, <br>if you look through this little mica window <br>you can see the dragons glassblowing their tears <br>as delicate and fragile as the rain that falls <br>like chandeliers from a lunar watershed just below <br>the manic desiccations on the sun-baked surface <br>of a reflected glory that doesn't come <br>with dedicated flowers devoted to hummingbirds<br>that showed them the sweetness of life in surreal replication. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And this water palace has a thousand rooms <br>with great bay windows and walls that can speak <br>of the great events of tragedy and bliss <br>they've witnessed discretely in a cosmic context, <br>hung with heavy velvet curtains of blood <br>and tapestries of loose ends the moon unweaves at night<br>into a million separate wavelengths of enlightenment <br>it will gather on a loom of blood into the narrative unity <br>of tomorrow when the tide draws back like an arrow on a bow. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But there's one floorless, wall-less windowless room <br>ageless as eternity and bigger than the abyss<br>that's lit by the dendritic candelabra of fireflies and stars <br>coming into blossom nocturnally like an apple tree <br>on a cold night in spring, I especially want you to see. <br>This is the doorless niche of my solitude I burn in like a candle.<br>This is the inexplicable emptiness in my heart <br>that's learned to cherish the abyss with open arms, <br>not just as space, though learning that is wisdom, <br>but as living people and inanimate things, stars, <br>leaves, ants, wolves and windows expressing forms<br>to console themselves in the pervasiveness of their isolation <br>by taking a hidden secret and making it known<br>as the black waters of earth long for the moon as a companion.<br>And this is where I have enshrined your dark radiance <br>like a telescope in an observatory buzzing with stars<br>at the prolixity of wild flowers opening themselves up<br>like loveletters they received anonymously in the night.<br>This is the sacred grove of the silver-tongued silence <br>where the birds of insight ripen the fruits of their longing<br>like windfalls of jewels in the ores of the darkness like eyes <br>that have sweetened and deepened their seeing enough <br>to orient the Parthenon to the rising of the Pleiades<br>liberated like a flock of doves flying off everywhere<br>in the ubiquitous directions of prayer voiced by the light<br>of the sailing ones nursing the catasterism of the heart <br>risking a more enlightened suicide <br>by falling in love from ever greater<br>mythologically inspired heights in the depths <br>of my astronomical awareness of the shining that is you<br>as if you were the only mirror in the room I can look into <br>and see way more than the eclipse of myself <br>than I ever expected to.</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=476823" data-title="Over Here, You See de Patrick White" data-description="Over here, you see, this is where I keep 
a hospice for the strawdogs and voodoo dolls 
that wander in off the road like spiritual emergencies 
that have had enough of being used at sacred rituals. 
I made peace between my blessings and my curses,..."></div>
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