Thursday, September 23, 2010

Slow man

"He seems to be on the brink of one of his bad spells again, one of the fits of lugubrious self-pity that turn into black gloom. He likes to think that they comes from elsewhere, episodes of bad weather that cross the sky and pass on. He prefers not to think they come from inside him and are his, part of him...

Truth is not spoken in anger. Truth is spoken, if it ever comes to be spoken, in love. The gaze of love is not deluded. It sees what is best in the beloved even when what is best in the beloved finds it hard to emerge into the light."



  1. A happy young man

    Happy young men are great things
    My father said.

    He is neither happy, nor young.

    I despair to think of life not moving – of waiting,
    Watching, withering.

    Old women no longer tell me how tall I have grown.

    I saw a picture of a young man, famous for playing a boy.
    He never waited or withered.

    Couldn’t drive though.

    David, hit me with a verse.

    Oh, God, oh, Spirit, oh, Gaia, oh Time:
    I walk with you all
    I swim in your waters and your winds cleanse me.

    My life flutters and I cling to it,
    I beg to watch it grow
    But is it fertile?

    Forgive the clumsiness of my psalm.
    I am not great
    For I am no longer young; nor am I happy.

    Cat’s in the cradle.