Thing

Okay, so I skipped almost four weeks (there’s been some strange personal drama on my end), and I want to see whether I can revive the blog now. 

Now I’m carrying a thing, much like the man in this poem:

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Man Carrying Thing

by Wallace Stevens

           

The poem must resist the intelligence

Almost successfully. Illustration:

A brune figure in winter evening resists

Identity. The thing he carries resists

The most necessitous sense. Accept them, then,

As secondary (parts not quite perceived

Of the obvious whole, uncertain particles

Of the certain solid, the primary free from doubt,

Things floating like the first hundred flakes of snow

Out of a storm we must endure all night,

Out of a storm of secondary things),

A horror of thoughts that suddenly are real.

We must endure our thoughts all night, until

The bright obvious stands motionless in cold.