Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Mark Strand: "The Night, the Porch"

To stare at nothing is to learn by heart
What all of us will be swept into, and baring oneself
To the wind is feeling the ungraspable somewhere close by.
Trees can sway or be still. Day or night can be what they wish.
What we desire, more than a season or weather, is the comfort
Of being strangers, at least to ourselves. This is the crux
Of the matter, which is why even now we seem to be waiting
For something whose appearance would be its vanishing—
The sound, say, of a few leaves falling, or just one leaf,
Or less. There is no end to what we can learn. The book out there
Tells us as much, and was never written with us in mind.

"The Night, the Porch" by Mark Strand, from New Selected Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2007).

Art credit: "Empty Porch," photograph by peirceman.


1 comment :

  1. Strangers, at least to ourselves...the sound of something in the moment of its vanishing. What intention and attention is brought to the moment when I come as a stranger? Lots to reflect upon in this intriguing poem. Holding out my gratitude


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