The following excerpts are from Minnesota/International poet Jude Nutter. In this poem The Rest of Us dedicated "for Roger" she describes a friend coming out of a long coma. As he regains his speech he tells her about "heaven." I'm including only the portions that are relevant to that description.
thick mouthful at a time: god,
you tell me, is a casual flame burning
around the trunk of every tree and under
the shelf of every leaf, and how can I
not think about Blake, who saw angels
bleating with fire in the trees and then lived his life
with the lord's bright body caught in his throat
like a hymn. There is no heaven;
only birds and wind. And your mind
flirting with its own absence. And the late-
blooming flowers sending out dark fleets of blossom.
There is no god, just the limned
and tooled body of the wind at play
among the plumes of the lilac; and trust me,
there's a warmth down in the grasses, right
where they enter the soil, and it will coat
your throat like a hymn. Come, let me wheel
you out through the streets of the world,
where the rest of us live, where there are no angels;
only girls on every corner baring their beautiful limbs.
-From The Rest of Us found in Jude Nutter's poetry collection The Curator of Silence.
|Pegasus by William Blake|
Serious writing. Very serious. Very.
So yes, I've started ANOTHER blog that you are welcome to read if you're into reading about the writing process and seeing my purely secular side. There are original book-porn pics too. (pics of books, you freaks) It is a deliberate step toward rediscovering the pieces worth sending somewhere to be published on this old-fashioned thing called "paper." Please stop by!: Archiving The Labyrinth.