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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476876" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Something Continental Within Me Rising</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Something continental within me rising. <br>Atlantis, surfacing. Pangaea coming back together, <br>synarthritically, after diversifying its sentient life forms, <br>from the preludes of the Burgess Shale <br>to the double-beamed diplodeci of Patagonia.<br>I can feel the shoulders of an ancient ocean <br>heaving up beneath me like a Leviathan of life <br>with the power to smash headlong through <br>the hull of the lifeboat of my psyche, or tip me <br>like a seal off this last ice floe I'm clinging to in the Arctic<br>with four polar bears, Henry Hudson, and a terrified tern.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sublimely underwhelmed, everything I once transcended <br>crossing a burning bridge of stars in a long firewalk <br>now subscended like the underside of a leaf or a starmap <br>as if my vision of life, and this thread of blood, <br>this small mindstream at night I am in it, is being <br>woven and unravelled by the moon I'm giving birth to <br>in a fire womb of an underwater fumarole <br>umbilically connected to the magmatic core of the earth, <br>hydrogen sulphide mythically inflating the scale of life. <br> <br>I'm heading into a bloodstorm with a ragged poem <br>like a flag of surrender for a sail on a life raft I lashed together<br>from the available driftwood that washed up on my shores <br>like the contorted corpses of those who had drowned in agony, <br>trying, as I have, for light years, to get to the other side before I die <br>in this tidal pool of shore-hugging ego that esteems itself <br>the third eye of the great nightsea beyond it <br>and when it's full of stars, the parabolic mirror <br>of a reflecting telescope in orbit around itself like a deer fly. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The earth is turning into quicksand under my feet. <br>O, earth, gape! A touch Marlovian, perhaps, <br>and a sound magician might make a demi-god, <br>but demi-gods don't always make the most sound magicians. <br>My skyscrapers are loosing their footing <br>like needles skipping grooves across an old fashioned record<br>of the celestial spheres, striated by retreating glaciers <br>trying to revive the last word of their literary careers, <br>like fireflies with enfibulators come to jump start their art<br>too late, too late, to go south with the other birds.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The mourning dove flees, but the crow winters with its heart<br>like a continent of coal deep freezing into diamonds<br>when a dark muse seizes it by the throat like an eclipse <br>and it cries out in the starless night of the uncomprehending abyss<br>across the ice-glazed eyelids of the blood-stained snows, <br>I am the ocean in the eye of a black rose.<br>I am the prophetic passion of fire in the skull of a dragon. <br>I am the dark lantern the arks of the stars <br>send out before themselves as if their myths of origin<br>were all ahead of them like a time capsule of eyes <br>to be opened sometime in the future when the light <br>makes land fall like the Norse at L'anse aux Meadows <br>before the fishermen anglicized Medusa from the French<br>in Jelly Fish Cove at the northern tip of Newfoundland.<br> <br>I am the spectral blazing of the silver heart of the moon. <br>I am the compassionate ice palace of an Inuit embassy, <br>an igloo in tears, giving sanctuary to the snow blind ghosts<br>that can wander the tundra for years like exiled dolmens<br>following the spectral fires of the auroral borealis <br>without any sign of a seance rising like smoke <br>from more accommodating fires on the shamanic horizon<br>of a mystic trickster that ate the eyes of the snow fox<br>so it could see in the dark the traps that had been laid for it.<br> <br>Long before I became the funereal usher<br>greeting the new comers at the one-way exits of the dead, <br>I was the gateless gate at the entrance of the living <br>to the longest white nights of their lives in a northern paradise <br>where nothing was forbidden and the great oracular snake <br>that Blake said in his prophetic books would arise in Canada<br>found it too cold to survive and perished <br>like a wavelength of dark energy red shifted toward the light<br>in a six month long nightmare no fire could revive it from <br>like the hallucinogenic smelling salts of the volcano <br>it coiled around for visionary warmth at Delphi.<br>But I can tell by the tattoos on the skin it shed <br>what it would have said if it had been more adaptable <br>and let more serpent fire go to its head in this cold climate <br>like chimney sparks among the stars <br>shining above its last chakra circumpolarly like Draco <br>growing wings like a wivern of wild grape vines <br>wrapped around the axis mundi of the wounded earth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I can heal. I can soothe. I can seduce you to my love. <br>I can move like a scar over the surface of the earth. <br>I can run like a wild northern river roiling in the moonlight<br>I can linger like a ripple in the oilslick of the Alberta tar sands, <br>or a perma frost speed bump on an asphalt highway in the spring. <br>I can be the dark angel in your way who drives <br>a spear of light through your heart so you can <br>never really tell if you're just another Barbie <br>toying with nirvana, or a real voodoo doll in the night<br>with a deeper insight into the dark arts of cursing and blessing <br>than either of the shallower mirrors and scenic vistas<br>of your blood and tears could have managed<br>on the same event horizon where they stand on the threshold<br>of a black hole they dare not enter on their own. <br>I am the alpha. I am the omega of shapeshifters <br>I am a dynamic equilibrium of fire and water <br>at peace with themselves without compromising <br>the other's nature for rising up or flowing down. <br>When my feet are in the stars, my head is on the ground.<br>I am the balancing act of a sacred clown<br>chequered like a chessboard calendar <br>of the days and nights of my life <br>I've danced with the full, <br>I've danced with the new moons<br>as if my ends always came before my beginnings. <br>Extinction the prelude of inception, <br>not the false dawn of its epilogue.<br>Clarity doesn't engender an opposite. <br>It isn't reality. It isn't a lack of deception. <br>It just means enlightenment and delusion <br>have both ceased to exist <br>as you make your exit, laughing, <br>with a real tear painted on your cheek that hasn't dried yet.</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=476876" data-title="Something Continental Within Me Rising de Patrick White" data-description="Something continental within me rising. 
Atlantis, surfacing. Pangaea coming back together, 
synarthritically, after diversifying its sentient life forms, 
from the preludes of the Burgess Shale 
to the double-beamed diplodeci of Patagonia.
I can ..."></div>
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