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On Alberto Caeiro & Me

November 8, 2013

So much darkness now, the clocks have fallen backwards & the beach is loud & dark at the time when I used to watch the Sun fall into it.  When I look at the sand, this rocky shore, I think of the poem by Alberto Caeiro where he says:

Sometimes I busy myself with watching a stone,
I don’t begin thinking whether it feels.
I don’t force myself to call it my sister,

But I enjoy it because of its being a stone,
I enjoy it because it feels nothing,
I enjoy it because it is not at all related to me.

Then he says, I am not even a poet: I see.

I see.  Like when I watched Suzanne undress through her window, or studied Lisa drying her hair after her shower, unwrapped, I on our bed aroused.  “I am not even a poet, I see.”


From → Poets, Ponderings

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