39[c. 4 March 1914] The mystery of things, where is it? If it exists, why doesn't it at least appear To show us that it is a mystery?
What does the river or the tree know of mystery? And I, who am not more real than they are, what do I know of it? Whenever I look at things and think what men think about them, I laugh like a stream as it rushes over a stone.
Because the only hidden meaning of things Is that they have no hidden meaning at all. It is stranger than all strangenesses, Than the dreams of all the poets And the thoughts of all the philosophers, That things really are what they seem to be And there is nothing to understand.
Yes, this is what my senses learned on their own:— Things have no signification: they have existence. Things are the only hidden meaning of things.
39 O mysterio das cousas, onde está elle? Onde está elle que não apparece Pelo menos a mostrar-nos que é mysterio?
Que sabe o rio d'isso e que sabe a arvore? E eu, que não sou mais real do que elles, que sei d'isso? Sempre que ólho para as cousas e penso no que os homens pensam d'ellas, Rio como um regato que soa á roda de uma pedra.
Porque o unico sentido occulto das cousas É ellas não terem sentido occulto nenhum. É mais extranho do que todas as extranhezas E do que os sonhos de todos os poetas E os pensamentos de todos os philosophos, Que as cousas sejam realmente o que parecem ser E não haja nada que comprehender.
Sim, eis o que os meus sentidos apprenderam sòsinhos:— As cousas não teem significação: teem existencia. As cousas são o unico sentido occulto das couasas.
Ted Kooser says farewell to his "American Life in Poetry" series with his own poem, "Red Stilts." "Rather than riding a horse into the sunset, let me clop away down the block on handmade stilts with this title poem from my new book, to be published Sept. 8 by Copper Canyon Press."
Poetry Daily stands with the Black community. We oppose racism, oppression, and police brutality. We will continue to amplify diverse voices in the poetry world. Black Lives Matter.
"Most of all, however, Curt was interested in cement, its powerful malleability. Cement could allow you to fashion new things never before seen on the landscape, or it could just as well slink back to imitate the forms that were already there. I, on the other hand, was not a ready fan of this material. I couldn’t deny that it disgusted me, had always disgusted me, but now especially, when the hum of construction was all-present in Indian cities as to never stop. Cement was simply a mainstay in the air we breathed."
18th annual contest sponsored by Winning Writers and co-sponsored by Duotrope. $8,000 in cash prizes includes $3,000 for the best poem in any style and $3,000 for the best rhyming or traditional-style poem. Entry fee: $15 per poem, maximum length 250 lines. Published and unpublished work accepted. Final judge: S. Mei Sheng Frazier. All cash prize winners will be published on WinningWriters.com. See guidelines, past winners, and enter online at winningwriters.com/tompoetry.
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