I am no Greek, hath not th’advantage.
And of course, no Roman:
he can take no risk that matters,
the risk of beauty least of all.

But I have my kin, if for no other reason than
(as he said, next of kin) I commit myself, and,
given my freedom, I’d be a cad
if I didn’t. Which is most true.

It works out this way, despite the disadvantage.
I offer, in explanation, a quote:
si j’ai du goût, ce n’est guères
que pour la terre et les pierres.

Despite the discrepancy (an ocean courage age)
this is also true: if I have any taste
it is only because I have interested myself
in what was slain in the sun

I pose you your question:

shall you uncover honey / where maggots are?

I hunt among stones
(A fragment from) The Kingfishers, Charles Olson
moonandtrees:

Insect Life by C. A. Ealand 1921

moonandtrees:

Insect Life by C. A. Ealand 1921

album art
The Hollow Men T.S. Eliot 106 Plays
There are plenty of ruined buildings in the world but no ruined stones.
Hugh MacDiarmid

mythologyofblue:

And it grows, the vain
summer,
even for us with our
bright green sins:

behold the dry guest,
the wind,
as it stirs up quarrels
among magnolia boughs

and plays its serene
tune on
the prows of all the leaves—
and then is gone,

leaving the leaves
still there,
the tree still green, but breaking
the heart of the air.

-Carlo Betocchi, ”Summer”, trans. by Geoffrey Brock + +

I’ve noticed that among acquaintances of mine, including radicals who claim to have firm understandings of privilege and oppression, stereotyping and making jokes about rural Appalachians is acceptable. While these same friends call people out for enacting other forms of oppression, they don’t consider making derogatory comments about hillbilly culture as part of the same paradigm of racist-classist-patriarchal-capitalist-white supremacy they are fighting against.
The illusion of great art is to make one believe that literature is very close to life, but exactly the opposite is true.
It is truly a phantom, for which you may seek for years, and then, when least expected it suddenly stands before you in some dim forest aisle, a vision of soft, white loveliness, that once seen can never be forgotten.
Barry Lopez, Field Notes (via mythologyofblue)