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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476997" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Up On Heartbreak Hill At Night</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Up on Heartbreak Hill at night<br>with a 2.4 inch,60 mm, refracting telescope, <br>a cat, and a journal of poems, <br>deciphering those immensities of sky <br>as if every star were the sacred syllable <br>of an inconceivable intelligence that explained<br>everything in light, and the light were singing. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Earth noises in the broom bushes and Douglas firs. <br>The air rife with the spirits of those <br>who had their necks broken here by a prison noose, <br>and had more of a right to be here than I did <br>who felt like an intrusive guest in their house<br>even though the darkness was common ground. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Eventually they learned to ignore me <br>as just another adolescent longing for eternal responses <br>to the expiry date on life and love, <br>and not one of them without a silent understanding <br>of what a star could mean through the bars <br>on the windows of their prison cells.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Up here on the hill I was a temple above <br>the imperial rhetoric of toppled garbage cans <br>expurgating on the fate of fallen empires <br>that took themselves way too personally in restrospect <br>than they did at the time, as if the wound, <br>even the children had to amend like a religion, <br>grew deeper and more volatile with age. <br>Up here, just the executed ghosts of perversity and rage. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The whisper of something beautiful<br>no one could smear, soil, smudge, <br>out of touch, though I caressed <br>the skin of the stars as if it were as smooth <br>as the lenses and mirrors I used <br>to watch the fragile radiance of how they danced <br>so intimately across the apertures <br>of my field of vision trembling before<br>their scintillation the way I used to make <br>some spiders vibrate in the morning<br>like sewing machines or the clappers on fire alarms <br>by simply touching their webs<br>as if all the strings on a Spanish guitar <br>were trip wires in a terrorist museum. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Light as the only liquid in a desert<br>for many dangerous miles around, <br>the stars were cool jewels of water to me. <br>I could almost taste them like the tartness <br>of wild blackberries on my lips, lemons, <br>the deadly nightshades of experimental girlfriends<br>testing out cartridges of new lipstick <br>the first time we kissed in the shadows <br>of the new moon behind the abandoned warehouse.<br> <br>It's impossible to see a star as it is <br>until it's become part of your love life<br>or, at least, until you can learn to flirt with the light<br>like a firefly at the window <br>of this thirteenth house of solitude<br>where the homeless gather like an avalanche<br>of the misplaced cornerstones of condemned temples<br>that like the stars, are always updating their past<br>about things that shine, but don't last.<br>If the medium is the message, and it is and it isn't, <br>then seeing must be a kind of love as well.<br>I saw the stars through the eyes of the stars.<br>I felt the weight of the billions of years <br>there wasn't even a one-eyed sea to look back at them<br>for intimate insights into its own impersonality. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hard stars in the winter, soft stars in the summer. <br>Stars can see further into the darkness of the human heart <br>when it's cold out for everyone and clarity <br>stops breathing on the mirror like evanescent nebulae<br>sensitizing the light to the chromatic aberrations<br>of the disappearing veils and crushed rainbows<br>synchronously aligned with my poetry at the time. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I could feel the passage of the stars <br>like migrating Canada geese in the autumn <br>the shamans read like rosaries in retrograde orbits, <br>an abacus of wandering planets, and one, <br>whose name was unknown <br>rooted in the ground of itself like a strange silence <br>that had whispered the world into its own ear <br>like the dark secret of light upon light<br>as everyone looked up like mirrors <br>with tears in their eyes as big as lenses<br>trying to overhear what was clearly not hidden <br>through the keyhole of a telescope up on Heartbreak Hill<br>when seeking wasn't a way of avoiding what was revealed.</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=476997" data-title="Up On Heartbreak Hill At Night de Patrick White" data-description="Up on Heartbreak Hill at night
with a 2.4 inch,60 mm, refracting telescope, 
a cat, and a journal of poems, 
deciphering those immensities of sky 
as if every star were the sacred syllable 
of an inconceivable intelligence that explained
everythin..."></div>
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