Aftermath
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Poem written in or near Tbilisi, May 24 th 2015 Aftermath The clamour of a thousand images Resonates, still, in my brain : Cityscape with niches and rushed Contingent traffic; Context for an exploration and a re-inking Of friendly boundaries Sleep at last and still this din Of unanswered questions and explorations; Familiar, almost, and forever strange. A sunlit Sunday of quiet intimacy. Events emerge, shrill and unbidden
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Many currents conspire to bring us into meaningful contacts here on the planet...and days will come (perhaps not while we are actually alive) when all these sunlit days and grave conversations with fellow travelers maybe downloaded as one luminous file. That day has not come yet and we plod on, foot soldiers in humanity's universal quest for meaning. As Jean-Paul Sartre said: When I act, I act for all mankind. It sounds grandiose, but I think he was catching that essential and rare insight that we all have our place; and that there is a place, and an allotted time and space on the stage for everything. What did T.S. Eliot say? "Fare forward, you who think that you are voyaging;You are not those who saw the harbourReceding, or those who will disembark.Here between the hither and the farther shoreWhile time is withdrawn, consider the futureAnd the past with an equal mind.At the moment which is not of action or inactionYou can receive this"
Transcript of Aftermath
Poem written in or near Tbilisi, May 24th 2015
Aftermath The clamour of a thousand images Resonates, still, in my brain : Cityscape with niches and rushed Contingent traffic;
Context for an exploration and a re-inkingOf friendly boundariesSleep at last and still this dinOf unanswered questions and explorations;
Familiar, almost, and forever strange. A sunlit Sunday of quiet intimacy. Events emerge, shrill and unbidden From the pianissimo string passages of life :
Wagnerian horns in Rustaveli. Markings in the score Lennie Bernstein Would know to observe. And yet Traffic of the dead, no longer in this game And whispering in my ear.
Poignancy with hope and disillusion ever mixed From this bright May dayWith a fervent beating heartAnd yet in a positive sense I will sleep ; For it, I shall shed every tear.
