Go inside a stone That would be my way. Let somebody else become a dove Or gnash with a tiger's tooth. I am happy to be a stone.
From the outside the stone is a riddle: No one knows how to answer it. Yet within, it must be cool and quiet Even though a cow steps on it full weight, Even though a child throws it in a river; The stone sinks, slow, unperturbed To the river bottom Where the fishes come to knock on it And listen.
I have seen sparks fly out When two stones are rubbed, So perhaps it is not dark inside after all; Perhaps there is a moon shining From somewhere, as though behind a hill-- Just enough light to make out The strange writings, the star-charts On the inner walls. --Charles Simic
What a stunning poem this is -and how perfect. I especially love the last lines -
'... Just enough light to make out the strange writings, the star-charts on the inner walls.'
Thank you. And thanks to Charles Simic.
I think I might have to dig out a prose poem I wrote a couple of years ago, titled "It depends how you look at it." It takes the reader into the inner landscapes of a stone, in a way not unlike CS has here, and ends with the words 'There is a universe inside a stone... '
No wonder CS's poem, when I found it this morning after seeing your images, seemed so familiar. I had your wonderful piece in my memory, without exactly remembering it.
Rich, glistening, egg-like. A pleasure to see them this morning.
ReplyDeleteSTONE
ReplyDeleteGo inside a stone
That would be my way.
Let somebody else become a dove
Or gnash with a tiger's tooth.
I am happy to be a stone.
From the outside the stone is a riddle:
No one knows how to answer it.
Yet within, it must be cool and quiet
Even though a cow steps on it full weight,
Even though a child throws it in a river;
The stone sinks, slow, unperturbed
To the river bottom
Where the fishes come to knock on it
And listen.
I have seen sparks fly out
When two stones are rubbed,
So perhaps it is not dark inside after all;
Perhaps there is a moon shining
From somewhere, as though behind a hill--
Just enough light to make out
The strange writings, the star-charts
On the inner walls.
--Charles Simic
Thank you, Mim. It would have been hard not to photograph them after yesterday's rain. They looked to me like small stone boats - or beetles.
ReplyDeleteHello Timoth
ReplyDeleteWhat a stunning poem this is -and how perfect. I especially love the last lines -
'... Just enough light to make out
the strange writings, the star-charts
on the inner walls.'
Thank you. And thanks to Charles Simic.
I think I might have to dig out a prose poem I wrote a couple of years ago, titled "It depends how you look at it." It takes the reader into the inner landscapes of a stone, in a way not unlike CS has here, and ends with the words 'There is a universe inside a stone... '
I'd say we agree on this.
Yes! I remember the poem now.
ReplyDeleteNo wonder CS's poem, when I found it this morning after seeing your images, seemed so familiar. I had your wonderful piece in my memory, without exactly remembering it.
Great minds . . .
On reflection, Tim - might it not be possible to be tiger, dove and stone?
ReplyDelete