R. P. Blackmur, Mirage

So painfully beautiful this sentence, I can’t read it without my heart hurting. Unbelievably beautiful.

The wind was in another country, and

the day had gathered to its heart of noon

the sum of silence, heat, and stricken time.

 

R. P. Blackmur Mirage

 

The wind was in another country, and

the day had gathered to its heart of noon

the sum of silence, heat, and stricken time.

Not a ripple spread. The sea mirrored

perfectly all the nothing in the sky.

We had to walk about to keep our eyes

from seeing nothing, and our hearts from stopping

at nothing. Then most suddenly we saw

horizon on horizon lifting up

out of the sea’s edge a shining mountain

sun-yellow and sea-green; against it surf

flung spray and spume into the miles of sky.

Somebody said mirage, and it was gone,

but there I have been living ever since.

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J.C. Bloem, “How notably stiller death is compared to sleep.”

The rhythm is slightly off, but I think it conveys the mood better.

And this stayed with me forever,
How notably stiller death is –compared to sleep,
That it is a daily marvel to live,
And that we, with every ‘wakeningawaken     as if from death.

Another ending, bit more awkward:

And this stayed with me forever:
How notably stiller death is compared to sleep,
That it is a daily marvel, to be alive,
That we with every ‘wakening    are       resurrected.

En voor altijd is mij bijgebeleven:
hoe zeer veel stiller dood dan slapen is;
dat het een daaglijks wonder is, te leven,
en elk ontwaken een herrijzenis.

J.C. Bloem