Ben Belitt Poems
|4.||On Quaking Bog||12/24/2016|
|5.||An Orange in Mérida||12/24/2016|
|8.||This Scribe, My Hand||12/24/2016|
Comments about Ben Belitt
...at the still point, there the dance is.
—T. S. Eliot
The errand into the maze,
Emblem, the heel's blow upon space,
Speak of the need and order the dancer's will.
But the dance is still.
For a surmise of rest, over the flight of the dial,
Between shock of the fall, shock of repose,
The flesh in its time delivered itself to the trial,
Suffrance: the lapse, the pause,
Were the will of the dance—
The movement-to-be, charmed from the shifts of the chance,
Intent on its cause.
And the terrible gift
Of the gaze, ...