Archive for the ‘Wallace Stevens’ Tag

The Blast of The Self   1 comment

Aspen Draw Fall Colors 2013-8364 blog IIAn Aspen Fall — Photo-Artistry by kenne

In a letter dated 4/26/03, by brother Tom wrote:

“I am in the midst of ‘trying’ to memorize a poem . . .
‘Final Soliloquy of the Interior Paramour’ by Wallace Stevens . . .
never mind why . . .
although the exercise was triggered by a piece by
George Steiner in which he wrote:

‘The danger is that the text or music will lose what physics
calls its ‘critical mass,’ its implosive powers within
the echo chambers of the self.'”

Tom was aware that what is committed to memory
and susceptible to recall constitutes  “The Blast of  The Self,”
an intensity of outward attention — interest, curiosity,
a healthy obsession was a motivation stronger
even than love or hatred or fear.

— kenne

Final Soliloquy of the Interior Paramour

Light the first light of evening, as in a room 

In which we rest and, for small reason, think
The world imagined is the ultimate good.

This is, therefore, the intensest rendezvous.
It is in that thought that we collect ourselves,
Out of all the indifferences, into one thing:

Within a single thing, a single shawl
Wrapped tightly round us, since we are poor, a warmth,
A light, a power, the miraculous influence.

Here, now, we forget each other and ourselves.
We feel the obscurity of an order, a whole,
A knowledge, that which arranged the rendezvous.

Within its vital boundary, in the mind.
We say God and the imagination are one…
How high that highest candle lights the dark.

Out of this same light, out of the central mind,
We make a dwelling in the evening air,
In which being there together is enough.

— Wallace Stevens

Meekly you keep the mortal rendezvous . . .   1 comment

SCVN Nature Walk 08-15-12, Marshall GulchArizona Sister Butterfly — Image by kenne

On the Manner of Addressing Clouds

Gloomy grammarians in golden gowns,
Meekly you keep the mortal rendezvous,
Eliciting the still sustaining pomps
Of speech which are like music so profound
They seem an exaltation without sound.
Funest philosophers and ponderers,
Their evocations are the speech of clouds.
So speech of your processionals returns
In the casual evocations of your tread
Across the stale, mysterious seasons. These
Are the music of meet resignation; these
The responsive, still sustaining pomps for you
To magnify, if in that drifting waste
You are to be accompanied by more
Than mute bare splendors of the sun and moon.

— Wallace Stevens

 

Bird On A Stick   1 comment

SCVN Weds Walk 08-01-12Bird On A Stick — Photo-Artistry by kenne

“The final belief is to believe in a fiction,
which you know to be a fiction, there being nothing else.
The exquisite truth is to know that it is a fiction
and that you believe in it willingly.”

― Wallace Stevens

Grasshopper Bouquet   Leave a comment

Hiking, Marshall Gulch, SCVNGrasshopper Bouquet —  Photo-Artistry be kenne

The most beautiful thing in the world is, of course, the world itself.

— Wallace Stevens

The Truth   Leave a comment

Rose Lake July 2013Rose Lake, Santa Catalina Mountains — Digital Art by kenne

One imagines him as a prodigious morning walker
And a lonely metaphysician pausing in the park,

A rose rabbi, a sturdy man on a wide path
Dreaming of a sky washed clean by doubt.

One pictures him under the umbrella
Pines and buttonwoods on the way to work,

Imagination’s largest thinker conjuring up
Songs of human radiance twanging in the mist.

One thinks of him by the lake in a rain:
Mirrors on mirrors mirroring the emptiness.

— from At the Grave of Wallace Stevens by Edward Hirsch

 

 

Mixed Media Art II   1 comment

Mixed ArtDSC_1390 blogMixed Media Art II — Digital Art by kenne

Accuracy of observation is the equivalent of accuracy of thinking.

— Wallace Stevens

The Final Belief . . .   Leave a comment

Cooks Camp TrailDesert Hibiscus — Image by kenne

“The final belief
is to believe in a fiction,

which you know to be a fiction,
there being nothing else.

The exquisite truth
is to know 
that it is
a fiction and that

you believe in it willingly.”

— Wallace Stevens

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