still here

I am still alive. I haven't had enough time to sit down and write anything worth while lately. Soon. Soon. Until then. Read this little slice of wonderful:

Are You There? W.H. Auden

Each lover has some theory of his own
About the difference between the ache
Of being with his love, and being alone:

Why what, when dreaming, is dear flesh and bone
That really stirs the senses, when awake,
Appears a simulacrum of his own.

Narcissus disbelieves in the unknown;
He cannot join his image in the lake
So long as he assumes he is alone.

The child, the waterfall, the fire, the stone,
Are always up to mischief, though, and take
The universe for granted as their own.

The elderly, like Proust, are always prone
To think of love as a subjective fake;
The more they love, the more they feel alone.

Whatever view we hold, it must be shown
Why every lover has a wish to make
Some kind of otherness his own:
Perhaps, in fact, we never are alone.

I have been thinking a lot about relationships lately, so this poem felt very apropos.

Happy January all!

Comments

clover said…
I just found your blog and think it is lovely. Forward librarians all!
Thanks Clover! Welcome welcome! Always appreciate new readers!

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