{"id":43,"date":"2005-09-01T07:35:19","date_gmt":"2005-09-01T14:35:19","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/OpenPage\/archives\/43"},"modified":"2005-09-01T07:35:19","modified_gmt":"2005-09-01T14:35:19","slug":"gathering-the-fragments","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/OpenPage\/?p=43","title":{"rendered":"Gathering the Fragments"},"content":{"rendered":"

Material found while sorting papers preparatory to getting serious (one more time) about my writing:<\/p>\n

So does memory
\nFind you hovering
\nIn a hundred places.
\n\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00e2\u20ac\u201d Peter Davison, “Aftermath”<\/p>\n

Outside the open window
\nThe morning air is all awash with angels.
\n\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00e2\u20ac\u201d Richard Wilbur, “Love Calls Us to the Things of This World”<\/p>\n

Tell me what you see vanishing and I
\nWill tell you who you are.
\n\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00e2\u20ac\u201d W.S. Merwin, “For Now”<\/p>\n

Your absence has gone through me
\nLike thread through a needle.
\nEverything I do is stitched with its color.
\n\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00e2\u20ac\u201d W.S. Merwin<\/p>\n

How hard it is to work against silence, shame, how hard to be brave.
\n\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00e2\u20ac\u201d Diana Abu-Jaber, on the writing process<\/p>\n

Your love comes round regularly as the truck that sweeps the
\nstreets, welcome but hardly monumental. It stirs up the
\ndust, it goes on its way, doing some kind of temporary good,
\nbusy, truculent.
\n\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00e2\u20ac\u201d\u00c2\u00a0 Marge Piercy, “The Inquisition”<\/p>\n

There are moments when one has to choose between living one’s life fully, entirely, completely \u00e2\u20ac\u201d or dragging out some false, shallow, degrading existence that the world in its hypocrisy demands.
\n\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00e2\u20ac\u201d Oscar Wilde<\/p>\n

All memories are echoes: some whisper,
\nothers roar, as this does.
\n\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00e2\u20ac\u201d Grace Shulman, in a poem about W.H. Auden\u00c2\u00a0
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0which appeared\u00c2\u00a0in The New Yorker<\/em>, 1994<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Material found while sorting papers preparatory to getting serious (one more time) about my writing: So does memory Find you hovering In a hundred places. \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00e2\u20ac\u201d Peter Davison, “Aftermath” Outside the open window The morning air is all awash with angels. \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 … Continue reading Gathering the Fragments<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-43","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/OpenPage\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/43","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/OpenPage\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/OpenPage\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/OpenPage\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/OpenPage\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=43"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/OpenPage\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/43\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/OpenPage\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=43"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/OpenPage\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=43"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.silkentent.com\/OpenPage\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=43"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}