There Like The Growth Of A Tree

Inside and around, its presence made visible in my head. Words unguessed by others caress a further darkness drawing the eyes inward toward a shy interior. And what about the secrets between things, hidden as a dementia, coming across as many things all at once. I wonder why just now, having read the poem, an anxiousness catches light and pulls me up from wherever I've been. This new presence – an always welcome surprise.

. . . . .

Entrance

(After Rilke)

.

Whoever you are: step out of doors tonight,

Out of the room that lets you feel secure.

Infinity is open to your sight.

Whoever you are.

With eyes that have forgotten how to see

From viewing things already too well-known,

Lift up into the dark a huge, black tree

And put it in the heavens: tall, alone.

And you have made the world and all you see.

It ripens like the words still in your mouth.

And when at last you comprehend its truth,

Then close your eyes and gently set it free.

– Dana Gioia

. . . . .

Entrance

Whovever you are: step out in to the evening

out of your living room, where everything is so known;

your house stands as the last thing before great space:

Whoever you are.

With your eyes, which in their fatigue can just barely

free themselves from the worn-out thresholds,

very slowly, lift a single black tree

and place it against the sky, slender and alone.

With this you have made the world. And it is large

and like a word that is still ripening in silence.

And, just as your will grasps their meaning,

they in turn will let go, delicately, of your eyes . . .

– Rainer Maria Rilke

. . . . .

The tales we tell are either false or true,

But neither purpose is the point. We weave

The fabric of our own existence out of words,

And the right story tells us who we are.

– Dana Gioia