^z 16th April 2023 at 8:34am
Beautiful thoughts from poet William Stafford (1914-1993), as quoted by Garrison Keillor in "The Writer's Almanac" of 2008-01-17:
At the moment of writing ... the poet does sometimes feel that he is accomplishing an exhilarating, a wonderful, a stupendous job; he glimpses at such times how it might be to overwhelm the universe by rightness, to do something peculiarly difficult to such a perfection that something like a revelation comes. For that instant, conceiving is knowing; the secret life in language reveals the very self of things.
and
I have woven a parachute out of everything broken.
Stafford is the author of "What's in My Journal", a perfect description of the ZhurnalyWiki:
| Odd things, like a button drawer. Mean Things, fishhooks, barbs in your hand. But marbles too. A genius for being agreeable. Junkyard crucifixes, voluptuous discards. Space for knickknacks, and for Alaska. Evidence to hang me, or to beatify. Clues that lead nowhere, that never connected anyway. Deliberate obfuscation, the kind that takes genius. Chasms in character. Loud omissions. Mornings that yawn above a new grave. Pages you know exist but you can't find them. Someone's terribly inevitable life story, maybe mine. |
(cf. In My Journal (2005-01-29), ...) - ^z - 2017-10-29