To the others

April 20, 2020

I see you, refulgent ones,
Burning so steadily
Like big white arc lights…
There are so many of you.
I like to watch you weaving –
Altogether and with precision
Each his ray –
Your tracery of light,
Making a shining way about America.

I note your infinite reactions –
In glassware
And sequin
And puddles
And bits of jet –
And here and there a diamond…

But you do not yet see me,
Who am a torch blown along the wind,
Flickering to a spark
But never out.

Lola Ridge

actually a magic spell

April 20, 2020

Poetry is not a fancy way of giving you information; it’s an incantation. It is actually a magic spell. It changes things; it changes you.

Philip Pullman
Interview in The New Yorker, 29th September 2019

Sign of the times

April 20, 2020