by Mark Strand
I prefer to sit all day
like a sack in a chair
and to lie all night
like a stone in my bed.
When food comes
I open my mouth.
When sleep comes
I close my eyes.
My body sings
only one song;
the wind turns
gray in my arms.
Flowers bloom.
Flowers die.
More is less.
I long for more.
Was it Dad who said "sack of potatoes" when refering to one of us kids endearingly...or was that Bill with our kids. Ahhh, I think it was Bill, but I digress.
ReplyDeleteI wonder if the flowers wish they were more than what they are or if they have genes within them that make them content just the way they are.... Maybe by being "more" we have the choice?
the poem is curious, much more (i think) than it appears, with that delightful (and painful) twist in the end.
ReplyDeleteyour photograph is exquisite. it is seduction, attention, all true attention being seduction.))
xo
erin
(i'm reminded of rilke's ninth elegy. there is a paradox in being that is released in rilke's poem, "Earth, isn't that what you want: to arise in us invisibly? Isn't it your dream to be invisible someday?", while i think it is left under pressure in Strand's.)
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