‘It was as if the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for one of two things to happen: either the whole thing to be blown to smithereens in a huge burst of incredible, enormous flame, or for everything which was trying to destroy the world instead to destroy itself; leaving the world in a state of shock at first, followed by a celebration the likes of which had never before been experienced. Once the evil ones were gone, there was a time of unprecedented happiness and peace, which ushered in a thousand years without evil in the world.’ — L. Jardine
You ask whether your verses are any good. You ask me. You have asked others before this. You send them to magazines. You compare them with other poems, and you are upset when certain editors reject your work. Now (since you have said you want my advice) I beg you to stop doing that sort of thing. You are looking outside, and that is what you should most avoid right now. No one can advise or help you – no one. There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple “I must”, then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse. —Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
(reblogged with kind permission from Karl Duffy’s blog, http://mindfulbalance.org/2012/03/11/drawing-from-the-wells-within/)
Passing through walls hurts human beings, they get sick from
it, but we have no choice.
It’s all one world. Now to the walls.
The walls are a part of you.
One either knows that, or one doesn’t; but it’s the same for
everyone except for small children. There aren’t any walls for them.
The airy sky has taken its place leaning against the wall.
It is like a prayer to what is empty.
And what is empty turns its face to us
and whispers: “I am not empty, I am open. Tomas Tranströmer, Vermeer
(also from Karl Duffy’s blog http://mindfulbalance.org/2012)