new old kid on the blog,
with an occasional
old or new poem written off
the old writer's block
devoted to Dutch summer weather this poem????
In my case, seventeen.But honestly—I love this poem. Every re-reading takes one deeper—into memory, which is time, which is the millions of small observations and intimations and anticipations that make up a life. The poem doesn't provide them, but provides access to them. A real marvel....
Vassilis,I see in this a wise poet's injunction not to let trivial worries gnaw: the gift of the one falling leaf depends on it
fully agree with Joseph and Conrad. Hope I did not offend you Bill, but truly we are longing for a bit of sunshine overhereu
Peter,No need to apologize; after all, your Dutch generosity has made it possible for these posts to continue!Joe,You might be interested in hearing that one or more earlier versions of this poem had "anticipation" as part of its title--as expected, your comments astute and enlightening.Conrad,Ah yes, that gift--we must be grateful for it.I am grateful to you three for giving me your thoughts on this particular poem.