Only in our sorrows do we liveNeat. But also a portrait of an egotism so huge as to be almost monstrous ... 'I will not weep for my dead son, but I will weep for myself, that I do not weep for my dead son.' Or perhaps it's not egotism. Perhaps this is the dark truth we try to ignore about bereavement: we're not sad for the dead, who are beyond troubles. We're sad for ourself. Grief is a mode of self pity.
within the heart of consciousness, the lie.
Meeting his master crying in the road
a student took Solon to task: "but why,
your son so long in the ground, do you still grieve
if, as you say, man's tears avail him nothing?'
'Young friend,' said Solon, lifting his old head,
'I weep because my tears avail me nothing.'
Saturday, 30 June 2012
I sometimes wonder if Don Paterson isn't the most technically gifted living British poet. Here's a short one from 1999's The Eyes, 'Paradoxes':