‘Ive not managed to post anything this week, caught up in the pressure of the penultimate week of the semester, and the penultimate essay, a study on the form, language and style of modernist poem, The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot. I’m a bit disappointed, because I have managed, until now, to keep the blog going without missing a week. However, I have to accept that whilst I’m at uni, my priorities have to change. My sincere apologies to followers of this blog for the interruption, I hope to keep it to a minimum.
This morning I awoke to a few fresh flakes of snow, although not the avalanche we had been threatened with, a sore throat, and a poem in my head. I did not dream it, I just awoke and there it was, fully formed. It’s an incredible gift when that happens, so here it is, and as you will see, it’s a kind of response to my search for knowledge, and Eliot’s poem.
reflections on the pursuit of knowledge
Its message is delivered in fragments,
Sharp edges burnished bright but veiled in obscurity,
requiring the glue of diligence.
The distance I must travel is not linear,
arching back eons
to lost literatures, ancient wisdoms, and
jumping ahead to future futility.
Understanding is elusive,
comes in brief flashes
revealed in hazy desert mirages, or
like morsels unpicked from between golden teeth, or
like glints from the surface of the slow slide of water.
I gather in the light, hoard it,
shoring up my inner darkness.
Devouring, shoveling in the light in spades.
But the cavern gapes ever empty.
I am aware only of the void.
I am surrounded by the Filled.
Daily, I see shards of light
scattered from eyes and lips.
It bounces off the ignorant, lying
shattered beneath marching feet.
I rescue some, but it doesn’t flow for me.
It is too late
I am too lazy
and too far-gone…