My best att books; my good friend's painting, a chest my husband let me impulse-buy.
and a textile sewn with mirrors that my mother brought back from India.
This is a room that gives me frequent quiet pleasure indoors.
WALK AT NIGHT
Nothing is like something else. What is not wholly
alone with itself, what thing can really be expressed?
We name nothing. All we can do
is tolerate, acquaint ourselves
with a single fact: here a sudden brilliance
or there a glimpse momentarily grazes us
as if it were precisely that in which resides
what our life is. Whoever resists
will have no world. Whoever resists
will have no world. Whoever grasps too much
will overlook the infinite. Meanwhile,
during such huge nights we are out of danger,
distributed in equal, almost weightless
parts among the stars. How they urge us on.
Rainer Maria Rilke, Translated from the German by Franz Wright
The Unknown Rilke , Oberlin College Press, 1990, page 108.
I tend to like outdoor poems best usually, but I do like spending lots of time indoors. What is your preference? Write an eight or none-line poem about it, and send it to me Tonight is the Fourth, so the neighborhood is filled with popping sounds, even though it is almost midnight! Fortunately, our old dog is deaf.