I’ve never done anything but dream. This, and this alone, has been the meaning of my life. My only real concern has been my inner life. FERNANDO PESSOA

Saturday, 13 December 2008

Evenings

Evenings the lovers walk
Slowly through the field,
Women let down their hair,
Businessmen count money,
Townspeople anxiously read the latest
In the evening paper,
Children clench tiny fists,
Sleeping deep and dark.
Each one with his own reality,
Following a noble duty,
Townspeople, infants, lovers -
And not me?

Yes! My evening tasks also,
To which I am a slave,
Cannot be done without by the spirit of the age,
They too have a meaning.
And so I go up and down,
Dancing inside,
Humming foolish street songs,
Praise God and myself,
Drink wine and pretend

That I am a pasha,
Worry about my kidneys,
Smile, drink more,
Saying yes to my heart
(In the morning, this won't work),
Playfully spin a poem
Out of suffering gone by,
Gaze at the circling moon and stars,
Guessing their direction,
Feel myself one with them
On a journey

No matter where.

From Hermann Hesse's Wandering

3 comments:

The Weaver of Grass said...

You do find very pertinent stuff to put on your blog Robert. I love this poem and can almost hear you reading it.

Issa's Untidy Hut said...

Great poem ... thanks for posting.

Don @ Issa's Untidy Hut

The Solitary Walker said...

Thanks for your comment, grassweaver!

Don - what a great poetry site you have - will return to read lots more.