ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently on Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
ON BEGINNINGS
(and subsequently On Endings)
I believe the poem is an act of the mind. I think it is easier to talk about
THE END
of a poem than it is to talk about its
BEGINNING
. Because the poem ends on the page, but it begins off the page, it begins in the mind.
The mind acts, the mind wills a poem, (often against our own will) somehow this happens, somehow a poem gets written in the middle of a chaotic holiday party that has just run out of ice, and
IT'S YOUR HOUSE
.
THE END
I have never, in my life, read a poem that ended with the words The End. Why is that, I wonder.
I think perhaps the brevity of poems compared to novels makes one feel that there has been no great sustention of energy, no marathon worthy of pulling tape across the finish line.
And then I found a poem of mine that I had carefully written by hand in the sixth grade, and at the bottom of the page, in India ink, beautifully apart from the rest of the text, were the words:
"The End"
And I realized children very often denote the end because it is indeed a great achievement for them to have written anything, and they are completely unaware of the number of stories and poems that have already been written; they know some, of course, but have not yet found out the extent to which they are not the only persons residing on the planet.
And so they sign their poems and stories like kings.
Which is a wonderful thing.
"The End"
BEGINNING
And in the best of all possible lives, that beginning and that end are the same:
in poem after poem I encountered words that mark the first something made out of language that we hear as children repeated night after night, like a refrain: I love you. I am here with you. Don’t be afraid. Go to sleep now.
And I encountered words that mark the last something made out of language that we hope to hear on earth:
I love you. I am here with you. Don’t be afraid. Go to sleep now.
IT'S YOUR HOUSE