Created for us by a loving Lord
So on its lands , we made our little homes
Existentialists claim we have no home
Dislocated,life can’t be enjoyed
In the past, folk felt the world their own
Hell is other people, Sartre claimed,
Dividing us to monads ,deeply flawed
Yet in the past ,community was sane
Why do we feel lost with lone hearts maimed?
Are we shocked by new techniques and awe?
In the past, communion was our own
Spirit lost in wars,what is our aim?
If God is dead, who shall declaim the Law?
We’re ” civilised “, how mute Ethics forlorn
The tablet Moses found has been disdained
We submit to nothing but our toys.
Machines and war destroy communal aims.
Who can raise us ;how can debts be paid?
Oh, brilliant leaves are now turned duller red.
The first day of our Brexit winter time.
From the sun bright colour had been bled.
What seemed innate was stolen then instead
As life is taken when we pass our prime
The shimmering leaves are now turned brownish red
Oh,sadly know the leaves face sudden death
Torn from branches where boys used to climb
All the foliage flies in one last breath
Mystics hear the still small voice of God
When all is lost and meaning ‘s but a line
Those high leaves for tramps shall make a bed
When we had it,what was it we had?
We hear the Word when we have paid the fine
Once lovely leaves are now turned dull and dead
For only sun expressed what had been fed.
Do we have a choice?
Sometimes we have to reflect.But it can turn into rumination which is linked to much mental suffering and even illness.
“We found that people who didn’t ruminate or blame themselves for their difficulties had much lower levels of depression and anxiety, even if they’d experienced many negative events in their lives,” says Peter Kinderman, who led the study and is a professor of clinical psychology at the University of Liverpool.”Dwelling on negative thoughts and self blame have previously been recognised as important when it comes to mental health, but not to the extent this study has shown.
“The findings suggest both are crucial psychological pathways to depression and anxiety”
Some of Simic’s best-known works challenge the dividing line between the ordinary and extraordinary. He animates and gives substance to inanimate objects, discerning the strangeness in household items as ordinary as a knife or a spoon. Robert Shaw wrote in the New Republic that the most striking perception of the author’s early poems was that “inanimate objects pursue a life of their own and present, at times, a dark parody of human existence.” Childhood experiences of war, poverty, and hunger also lie behind a number of poems. In the Georgia Review, Peter Stitt claimed that Simic’s most persistent concern “is with the effect of cruel political structures upon ordinary human life….The world of Simic’s poems is frightening, mysterious, hostile, dangerous.” However, Stitt noted, Simic tempers this perception of horror with gallows humor and an ironic self-awareness: “Even the most somber poems … exhibit a liveliness of style and imagination that seems to re-create, before our eyes, the possibility of light upon the earth. Perhaps a better way of expressing this would be to say that Simic counters the darkness of political structures with the sanctifying light of art.”
Photo by Deirdre W..Copyright
” My early poems were embarrassingly bad, and the ones that came right after, not much better. I have known in my life a number of young poets with immense talent who gave up poetry even after being told they were geniuses. No one ever made that mistake with me, and yet I kept going. I now regret destroying my early poems, because I no longer remember whom they were modeled after. At the time I wrote them, I was reading mostly fiction and had little knowledge of contemporary poetry and modernist poets. The only extensive exposure I had to poetry was in the year I attended school in Paris before coming to the United States. They not only had us read Lamartine, Hugo, Baudelaire, Rimbaud, and Verlaine, but they made us memorize certain poems of theirs and recite them in front of the class. This was such a nightmare for me as a rudimentary speaker of French—and guaranteed fun for my classmates, who cracked up at the way I mispronounced some of the most beautiful and justly famous lines of poetry in French literature—that for years afterwards I couldn’t bring myself to take stock of what I learned in that class. Today, it’s clear to me that my love of poetry comes from those readings and those recitations, which left a deeper impact on me than I realized when I was young”