Monday, September 14, 2009

Having Come This Far, by James Broughton

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Symphony No. 40, I

I've been through what my through was to be
I did what I could and couldn't
I was never sure how I would get there

I nourished an ardor for thresholds
for stepping stones and for ladders
I discovered detour and ditch

I swam in the high tides of greed
I built sandcastles to house my dreams
I survived the sunburns of love

No longer do I hunt for targets
I've climbed all the summits I need to
and I've eaten my share of lotus

Now I give praise and thanks
for what could not be avoided
and for every foolhardy choice

I cherish my wounds and their cures
and the sweet enervations of bliss
My book is an open life

I wave goodbye to the absolutes
and send my regards to infinity
I'd rather be blithe than correct

Until something transcendent turns up
I splash in my poetry puddle
and try to keep God amused.

from Panhala


antonia said...


Elaine Jarvis said...

Lovely...thanks! May I shamelessly steal it for my blog?


Manuela said...

it is quite beautiful and lovely, isn't it.

elaine, of course you may, as i myself did - but i call it 'passing it on' :)

Prospero said...

Manuela, I read this then and now, with a teleological eye - and concur with every minutiae of struggle it exposes and, like a smoke ring dissolving into the renascent air, disposes.

Roxana said...

i come back again and again for this line:
I've been through what my through was to be -
and now i have to think that i have no image that could possibly mirror this truth. there is none, i am afraid.

Manuela said...

roxana, were we leaving comments at the same time? :)

i like to get a glimpse how you think in images. though i don't think you don't have images, also i can't comment too deeply on your process, you artist of floating dreams...

i also had a hard time deciding on the music - the last two lines stayed with me and eventually led me to mozart and his playful, straight connection with God.

Manuela said...

Prospero, I just love the image of the smoke ring rising and disposing of the minutiae, and leaving the air and view clear.