Language Implies Words As Names To Share Poem by Ananta Madhavan
Language Implies Words As Names To Share
Mist obscures our holy hill again this late November day.
I like to think of walking in the cloud invisibly.
I am arrived at such a pitch of felicity,
When all that I want to say has already been said;
Mist obscures our holy hill again this late November day.
I like to think of walking in the cloud invisibly.
I am arrived at such a pitch of felicity,
When all that I want to say has already been said;
Not as I would have chosen to say this time,
But in words approximate to my haze.
Clouds in a grey-blue expanse above my head
Fuse and diffuse, refusing to fit into
Categories or slots and frames of reference.
We too are clouds, deforming, reforming
Into classes analysed by forerunners,
Who gave names to ever-morphing images,
Which will not retain distinct taxonomy
And remain unique identities.
Maybe we reach the end of the road in fog.
There's nothing beyond what we perceive, and yet,
It is given to us to imagine beyond our sight,
Beyond the blinding Sun and the dark night.
Not as I would have chosen to say this time,
But in words approximate to my haze.
Clouds in a grey-blue expanse above my head
Fuse and diffuse, refusing to fit into
Categories or slots and frames of reference.
We too are clouds, deforming, reforming
Into classes analysed by forerunners,
Who gave names to ever-morphing images,
Which will not retain distinct taxonomy
And remain unique identities.
Maybe we reach the end of the road in fog.
There's nothing beyond what we perceive, and yet,
It is given to us to imagine beyond our sight,
Beyond the blinding Sun and the dark night.
We may reach the end of the road in fog.
I like to think of walking in the cloud invisibly.
I am arrived at such a pitch of felicity,
When all that I want to say has already been said;
Not as I would have chosen to say this time,
But in words approximate to my haze.
Clouds in a grey-blue expanse above my head
Fuse and diffuse, refusing to fit into
Categories or slots and frames of reference.
We too are clouds, deforming, reforming
Into classes analysed by forerunners,
Who gave names to ever-morphing images,
Which will not retain distinct taxonomy
And remain unique identities.
Maybe we reach the end of the road in fog.
There's nothing beyond what we perceive, and yet,
It is given to us to imagine beyond our sight,
Beyond the blinding Sun and the dark night.
A literary critic, David Lodge, has proposed that a language, spoken
or written, involves a consensus on 'coding' and 'decoding' the text.
Listening to music and aesthetic appreciation of, say, the painting of
Mona Lisa, also involves a process of 'translation'.But even a
conversation between two people or an interior monologue, a soliloquy,
involves consensual understanding.This idea leads to other notions
which one can pursue if so minded.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
5/6/2024 11:09:56 AM # 1.0.0.1119
