‘And the smoke rose slowly, slowly,

but after the Fall of Man(usually forwards and enthusiastically, we note)literaturerequired some word for what happenswhen evening falls, the curfew tolls the knell of parting day,lovers begin to nuzzle, friendsremember a prior engagement, journaliststry to bribe the night porter, andsome novelists, blushing, draw the curtain, while othersbrighten and begin to enjoy their work; and filmmakersneed…

if years of partial listening have broughtnow partial hearing in their fateful train?O Milton – isn’t it curious: the blindevoke our instant feelings of compassion;while deafness calls some idiot state to mind –evoking, far from pity – irritation!Those saintly mystics would just praise their Godthat He, to speed their simple saintliness,brings outer deafness, so that…

turned water into winein an act of love.All over the world, right now,a million grape vinesare performing the same miracleslowly; silently; aided by the sun;their roots, like farmers, coal or diamond miners,searching in the earthfor the most precious;it doesn’t hit the headlinesbut who dares saya patient, silent, unsung loveis any less a miracle?Who dares say…

out there alone in the prairie –the steppes, the tundra,snowfields, desert –past midnight, the heavensa carpet of stars, maybe a flashover the horizon of Northern Lights,or the centered assurance of the Southern Cross,silence broken only by a howl,was that a wolf,just one observer asa camera, a poet, whomwe never see..and then a distant sound andone…

is a poetlooks with aweupon all thingssees one in manypraises one,delights in manylovesreasonswonder is a poetBarely a year ago nowwhat was he?an adult student whom I scarcely knew,self-contained (and whatan epithet that is…) ,a human being with a warmth,a keen mind for profounder things, butnot burdened with over-education,still an innocent guarding wonder with a hidden…

this knowing seeing –That!