In the train, the narrator reads poetry by Rendra and Mayakovsky but finds their words less meaningful than remembering their lover. Looking outside, the narrator sees rice fields, mountains, and imagines a poem rising from the sweat of farmers at work. The narrator knows life exists between heaven and earth and references Adam and Eve being expelled from paradise. For poets, their fate is to continuously seek inspiration by knocking on doors but never finding rest, refusing to surrender to their situation.
In the train, the narrator reads poetry by Rendra and Mayakovsky but finds their words less meaningful than remembering their lover. Looking outside, the narrator sees rice fields, mountains, and imagines a poem rising from the sweat of farmers at work. The narrator knows life exists between heaven and earth and references Adam and Eve being expelled from paradise. For poets, their fate is to continuously seek inspiration by knocking on doors but never finding rest, refusing to surrender to their situation.
In the train, the narrator reads poetry by Rendra and Mayakovsky but finds their words less meaningful than remembering their lover. Looking outside, the narrator sees rice fields, mountains, and imagines a poem rising from the sweat of farmers at work. The narrator knows life exists between heaven and earth and references Adam and Eve being expelled from paradise. For poets, their fate is to continuously seek inspiration by knocking on doors but never finding rest, refusing to surrender to their situation.
Rendra and Mayakovsky Yet the words I hear are yours Above the rhythm of the wheels, I look outside: Rice-fields and mountains And a poem rises From every bead of sweat On the brow of the farmer Throughout his long and lonely day.
I know you know
That life drifts between heaven and earth Adam was expelled from Paradise Then searched for Eve.
The poet’s fate
Is to knock on door after door And never find: Restlessly Refusing To surrender to his situation.
In the valley I see your calm face,
From the valley your hand stretches forth.
In the train I read poetry: submission to emotion
Which through the iron fingers of Time Determines the path of Fate: stretching out Into the realm of dreams which I shape to no avail.
I know, you know, in poetry Everything is clear and definite.
First Thought, Best Thought by Burroughs, William S. Di Prima, Diane Ginsberg, Allen Waldman, Anne Ginsberg, Allen Burroughs, William S. Roark, Randolph Di Prima, Diane Waldma