|O Me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; |
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.
Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
|There are just times in one's poetic life when one needs a blast of Whitman, I reckon.|
|When you feel sufficiently blasted, check out the Tuesday Poem. Today's poem is brought to you by guest editor, Zireaux, and it's a song by Fiona Apple. It does rather seem appropriate to have a song as the featured poem today and be talking here about Whitman.|
|I'm reading Hilary Mantel's short story collection, The Assassination of Margaret Thatcher. Brilliant!|
|Also, The Buddha Walks into the Office by Lodro Rinzler. Thought-provoking.|
|I would recommend both books, the latter particularly if you feel you're floundering at work, or if you simply want some kind of work/you reality check, or, like me, if you're always looking for ways to work differently - with greater calm, more empathy and more in tune with the way you live your non-working life.|