Saturday, August 26, 2017

Cliffs of Moher



Who is my father in this world, in this house,
At the spirit’s base?

My father’s father, his father’s father, his—
Shadows like winds

Go back to a parent before thought, before speech,
At the head of the past.

They go to the cliffs of Moher rising out of the mist,
Above the real,

Rising out of present time and place, above
The wet, green grass.

This is not landscape, full of the somnambulations
Of poetry

And the sea. This is my father or, maybe,
It is as he was,

A likeness, one of the race of fathers: earth
And sea and air.

~ The Irish Cliffs of Moher by Wallace Stevens

10 comments:

  1. They are so wonderful, but very high when you have a look down......

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  2. ...now those are some cliffs!

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  3. Irreversibility in the picture and the text. Great.

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  4. This is why Ireland is still on my wishlist. Beautiful.

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  5. Such a lovely photograph and the text by Wallace Stevens was perfect!

    All the best Jan

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  6. Hermosa vista de los acantilados. El texto es precioso

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