To date I have been using this blog in order to share my own work but there's something so profound and beautiful about these words of T S Eliot that I felt compelled to share them -
Opening Stanza from Choruses from "The Rock"
The Eagle soars in the summit of Heaven,
The Hunter with his dogs pursues his circuit.
O perpetual revolution of configured stars,
O perpetual recurrence of determined seasons,
O world of spring and autumn, birth and dying
The endless cycle of idea and action,
Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
All our ignorance brings us nearer to death,
But nearness to death no nearer to GOD.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
The cycles of Heaven in twenty centuries
Bring us farther from GOD and nearer to the Dust.
T. S. Eliot (1888-1965),
The Rock (1934)
http://www.wisdomportal.com/Technology/TSEliot-TheRock.html
Friday, 11 May 2012
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
Saturday, 2 July 2011
Che cos'è Dio?
(This is a translation into Italian of my poem What Is God?)
Che cos'è Dio?
Dio è dove
l'ego non ha voce,
dove la Coscienza ha una oggettività
più di una coscienza
culturalmente o religiosamente condizionata,
dove l'umiltà ha confidenza e innocenza e perspicacia
che appartiene a tutti e a nessuno.
Dio è dove
ogni pensiero, sentimento e movimento violento
sparisce in Silenzio,
dove non c'e polemica
nè spiegazione nè analisi.
Dio è dove
le parole e i numeri ballano,
si scambiano i vestiti e i significati
in un Universo che insieme confonde e delizia.
Dio è dove
le etichette che affibbiamo agli altri
e a noi stessi
non hanno valore,
è dove noi persone
stiamo provando a Capire e a Essere
tanto quanto le nostre limitazioni permettono.
Dio è dove
i pensieri che girano in circolo,
e ci tormentano,
rinunciano e ammettono la loro propria impotenza,
dove la reazione è sostituita dalla riflessione.
Dio è dove
il personale e l'astratto,
l'allegorico e l'attuale
si uniscono.
Che cos'è Dio?
Dio è dove
l'ego non ha voce,
dove la Coscienza ha una oggettività
più di una coscienza
culturalmente o religiosamente condizionata,
dove l'umiltà ha confidenza e innocenza e perspicacia
che appartiene a tutti e a nessuno.
Dio è dove
ogni pensiero, sentimento e movimento violento
sparisce in Silenzio,
dove non c'e polemica
nè spiegazione nè analisi.
Dio è dove
le parole e i numeri ballano,
si scambiano i vestiti e i significati
in un Universo che insieme confonde e delizia.
Dio è dove
le etichette che affibbiamo agli altri
e a noi stessi
non hanno valore,
è dove noi persone
stiamo provando a Capire e a Essere
tanto quanto le nostre limitazioni permettono.
Dio è dove
i pensieri che girano in circolo,
e ci tormentano,
rinunciano e ammettono la loro propria impotenza,
dove la reazione è sostituita dalla riflessione.
Dio è dove
il personale e l'astratto,
l'allegorico e l'attuale
si uniscono.
© Geoff Davis. (Translated from the English by the author and M R Selenu)
Monday, 27 June 2011
You Are A Gift
Three years ago this very day a lovely Italian lady from Sardinia stepped off a plane from Olbia at Bristol Airport and Maria Rita and I met for the first time. It was a meeting that has completely changed the course of my life and something for which I will be eternally grateful. This is a poem I wrote for her a few days ago.
You Are A Gift
You are a gift.
I had resigned myself
to such a gift eluding me
and then I witnessed
a miracle unfold,
an alchemical process
turning base metals into gold.
You are that gold,
it emanates from every pore
and illuminates your face
every time you smile,
every time I catch those eyes
that lighten every burden
real or imagined,
every time I feel humbled
before your generosity.
What have I done
to merit being brought
to such a perfect place?
My expectations did not run
to thinking I could meet
with such a blessing.
How could I ask for more?
© Geoff Davis 2011
Wednesday, 15 June 2011
The Distance Our Reason Has Travelled
We should question the distance
our reason has travelled
when our reason cannot contain
the force and the speed
of negative emotional reaction
afflicting us again and again
with its often cruel expression;
cannot divert its energy
and enable us to feel
more consciously, more objectively.
We should question the distance
our reason has travelled
when our reason may lead
to the smug self-satisfaction
with which we justify our arrogance,
confusing it with clarity,
mistaking passivity for action.
No clear thinking oasis can
arise from the pitiless indifference
of a universe or man
shorn of conscience and compassion.
We can only be intelligent
when we feel what we reason.
I have a long way to travel.
You have a long way to travel.
We have a long way to travel.
Geoff Davis © 2011
our reason has travelled
when our reason cannot contain
the force and the speed
of negative emotional reaction
afflicting us again and again
with its often cruel expression;
cannot divert its energy
and enable us to feel
more consciously, more objectively.
We should question the distance
our reason has travelled
when our reason may lead
to the smug self-satisfaction
with which we justify our arrogance,
confusing it with clarity,
mistaking passivity for action.
No clear thinking oasis can
arise from the pitiless indifference
of a universe or man
shorn of conscience and compassion.
We can only be intelligent
when we feel what we reason.
I have a long way to travel.
You have a long way to travel.
We have a long way to travel.
Geoff Davis © 2011
Monday, 13 June 2011
Just After Mum Had Had A Stroke
It's four years ago today that my mother died aged 90. So to honour her memory here's a poem I wrote about her just after she had had the stroke which eventually led to her death.
Just After Mum Had Had A Stroke
Where has that voice and smile gone?
The delight at Stephen Gerrard scoring
Or hearing a Joni Mitchell song like
Marcie or Both Sides Now?
She is old, I know, but how unkind
That such a sudden fall should take away
The speech which she relied upon
At a stroke.
Clearly visible, behind
The near fruitless efforts to communicate,
Is the fierce intelligence I knew last week,
The sum total of ninety years of life.
The years of cooking recipes and tending roses,
Of reading Thomas Mann and Herman Hesse,
Of being a mother and a wife
Who always cared and showed an interest
And was obsessed with never being late!
Already I miss her voice
And the woman that she was
And will never be again
Or so the pessimist in me supposes.
It is a son's duty to honour and cherish his mother
So Gurdjieff reminded us.
Well, I felt a sense of obligation
And I have tried, I have tried
I had no other choice.
© Geoff Davis 2007
Just After Mum Had Had A Stroke
Where has that voice and smile gone?
The delight at Stephen Gerrard scoring
Or hearing a Joni Mitchell song like
Marcie or Both Sides Now?
She is old, I know, but how unkind
That such a sudden fall should take away
The speech which she relied upon
At a stroke.
Clearly visible, behind
The near fruitless efforts to communicate,
Is the fierce intelligence I knew last week,
The sum total of ninety years of life.
The years of cooking recipes and tending roses,
Of reading Thomas Mann and Herman Hesse,
Of being a mother and a wife
Who always cared and showed an interest
And was obsessed with never being late!
Already I miss her voice
And the woman that she was
And will never be again
Or so the pessimist in me supposes.
It is a son's duty to honour and cherish his mother
So Gurdjieff reminded us.
Well, I felt a sense of obligation
And I have tried, I have tried
I had no other choice.
© Geoff Davis 2007
From the Voice of a Machine to the Quality of Being
I was fascinated to read recently how a central part of Native American culture is to exercise care and economy in their use of language. This is a poem on that theme.
From the Voice of a Machine to the Quality of Being
"We must sharpen our barbs
to the point where it really hurts"
came from the voice of a machine
which displays a lack of quality,
no quality of feeling,
no quality of thinking,
no quality of any kind.
The energy of hostility and contempt
touches whatever labels
the machine attaches itself to
through whatever hollow victories
its violence may find.
The Native American likened words
to beautiful stones
which when lifted
should be viewed from every side
before their use
and that tossing them around
unconsciously
without thinking or respect
needlessly hurts
irrespective of the artificial pride
that claims the wounded
got their just deserts.
He was no fool.
The fool is he
who is dismissive of
honour and nobility
and whose mechanistic logic
claims as palpably false
the Great Spirit of
a culture and mythology
he does not understand.
I repeat,
the Great Spirit of
a culture and mythology
he does not understand.
He is stupid who is clever
when the cleverness
is blind to seeing
the quality of Being.
© Geoff Davis
From the Voice of a Machine to the Quality of Being
"We must sharpen our barbs
to the point where it really hurts"
came from the voice of a machine
which displays a lack of quality,
no quality of feeling,
no quality of thinking,
no quality of any kind.
The energy of hostility and contempt
touches whatever labels
the machine attaches itself to
through whatever hollow victories
its violence may find.
The Native American likened words
to beautiful stones
which when lifted
should be viewed from every side
before their use
and that tossing them around
unconsciously
without thinking or respect
needlessly hurts
irrespective of the artificial pride
that claims the wounded
got their just deserts.
He was no fool.
The fool is he
who is dismissive of
honour and nobility
and whose mechanistic logic
claims as palpably false
the Great Spirit of
a culture and mythology
he does not understand.
I repeat,
the Great Spirit of
a culture and mythology
he does not understand.
He is stupid who is clever
when the cleverness
is blind to seeing
the quality of Being.
© Geoff Davis
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
