How is it, you great ones,
when I read your poems
whether with
too quick an enchantment
or, impatient again,
almost giving up
in the care to know exactly
what you mean
that you are in the room with me
watching as I read
listening as I read
without judgment
watching, listening,
with the sublime detachment
of the immortal
while I, have learned
not to fear your judgment
not to be concerned
but just to read
in the radiance, the radiance
of your presence
(for Hugh Cobb who reminded me)
How come Michael? I guess because their spirits never really rest. I loved this look past the unknown. 10 from smiling knowingly! Tai
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That is what it's like, isn't it. The peace of those who made it into the canon.