Some things

we return to, that was going to be the title of this post. Until, reading the poem as I typed it out, I realised that I had finally outgrown it. I still love the trees in autumn and the slightly brighter sky of spring. The exhilarations of changes and the exhilarations of desire. But also - the clarity of metaphor, a clear moon in a clouded sky. Some things we can finally put aside, with thanks.


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 not 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