for after all, to know one’s ignorance
would be a wisdom cosmic in its stance;
and so, wise men have brought their focussed minds
to plumb its nature, to aid human kind:
does it describe that ‘nescience’ which stays
as innocent as babe, of error’s ways?
Or do we sense instinctively, all truth,
but overlay it with acquired untruth?
And if so, is the fault, (dear Brutus) , ours?
or is it universal as the stars?
‘Innocence’ as plea, Hindus refuse:
we’re Brahman, that knows all – so, no excuse!
for Poemhunterabout drinking – and alone at that – without mentioningthat it’s Saint Patrick’s Daywhen drinkers seldom drink alonefor the craic’s the thingso next time you have to drink aloneexcept for your shadow,notice that your shadowunder the light of the Moon,dances more drunkenly, and sooner– happy shadow –than you. You haven’t noticed?Then perhaps you’re thinkerthan…
shaved head, one ear-ring, bull neck,gold chain, tattoos,black gym-pumped T shirt(strange to think that thirty years agothat would mark him a, er, Judy Garland fan..)or football shirt on match days,jeans, trainersfor a quick getaway between the blood and the pig-van,and sharp eyes in an impassive faceas if one eye’s always on the lookout for his…
those tantalising visions which we seefor fleeting seconds; fear may never findagain; yet leave a presence in the air,the evanescent substance of a dream,like half-remembered, half-forgotten care,but known to be more real than they seem;like friendly ghosts who share our rooms awhileand conjure memories of their treasured kind:a scent; a taste; a light; an echoed…
these the cruel concerns, observers note,that press upon our current consciousness.To name mind’s enemies is good for mind:for straightway, two arch-fiends themselves reveal:separation, and false sense of loss.These enemies now named, what salve may heal?Think one – the other follows; thus, one fiend,whose only weapon is that thought of loss.But we own that which we…
I’ve certainly known worse..but all you want right nowis to get right away from them,live your own life, makeyour own mistakes.. andhalf of you is looking forward todoing just that, andhalf of you’s not sure..OK so far? I’m trying to be fair…now here are some sketches ofwhat life may hold:there’s the random, no-plan plan –life…
Langston,while it’s therethat I’m proud to seeyour name on my‘also read’ listI just wanted you to know.(and happy 105th birthday, February 1 this year 2007…){{ and apologies to all those who googled or indexed this in the hope of reading something brilliant about him… the selection of his poetry here on Poemhunter is no way…
