"Every body, every quality of a body, resolves itself into an enormous number of vibrations, movements, changes. . . . Philosophy has long dismissed the notion of substance and modern physics had endorsed the dismissal. . . . How then does the world come to appear to us as a collection of solid, static objects extended in space? Because of the intellect, which presents us with a false view of it."
--Dr. Joad, quoted by Wallace Stevens in "The Noble Rider and the Sound of Words"
"She probably thought I was wandering around
god knows where, for god knows how long
without God or cigarettes. I'd guess she was worried."
My memory's not what it used to be.
Showing posts with label Wallace Stevens. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wallace Stevens. Show all posts
Monday, November 25, 2013
Friday, October 18, 2013
Wallace Stevens, "The Motive for Metaphor"
You like it under the trees in autumn,
Because everything is half dead.
The wind moves like a cripple among the leaves
And repeats words without meaning.
In the same way, you were happy in spring,
With the half colors of quarter-things,
The slightly brighter sky, the melting clouds,
The single bird, the obscure moon—
The obscure moon lighting an obscure world
Of things that would never be quite expressed,
Where you yourself were never quite yourself
And did not want nor have to be,
Desiring the exhilarations of changes:
The motive for metaphor, shrinking from
The weight of primary noon,
The A B C of being,
The ruddy temper, the hammer
Of red and blue, the hard sound—
Steel against intimation—the sharp flash,
The vital, arrogant, fatal, dominant X.
--Wallace Stevens, "The Motive for Metaphor"
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