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March 16, 2001
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| "To let each impression and each germ of a feeling come to completion wholly in itself, in the dark, in the inexpressible, the unconscious, beyond the reach of one's own intelligence and await with humility and patience the birth-hour of a new clarity."
Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet |
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| Dream images
Igloo |
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| Here in the white world, a world made of foam, a world made of snow. Igloo apparition, and another, and another. What do you mean? Are you hollow? Can I crawl inside you? Can I rest inside you? Where do you come from? Can we light candles inside you? Can we put candles on your shelves? Can we make your walls glow red and alive? What I write seems foreign, an apparition from a culture not my own. Maybe it's insubstantial as foam, maybe it's white, maybe it's dead, maybe it lacks charm. It's not red. |