The staccato
Beat
Of the strobe
Of the light
Through the trunks
Of the trees
On the slope
As I drive
The winding road
The blinding flash
Of white
When I come
To a stop
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In “The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket” (1838), his only complete novel, Edgar Allen Poe described life as a passage through dark, all-obscuring trees and culminating in a blinding white light.
Perhaps unrelated, but I’ll throw it in anyhow, is that the color white, in its purest expression, symbolizes the end of life’s journey in Chinese iconography.
Oh my, such serious company, I’m honored. But that’s a little heavy, I was thinking more in terms of light. 😉
Travel through a winding forest, to a destination of blinding light? Hard to avoid a metaphysical resonance there, cara poeta. Longstanding metaphorical tradition. See also Robert Frost:
“…these woods are lovely, dark and deep,
but I have promises to keep
and miles to go before I sleep.”
Thanks for these beautiful references next to my simple words.
Travel through a winding forest, to a destination of blinding delight.
meta physical Metà Hope.
Deety, you need a cold shower. Or a cigarette. Maybe both.
ENGLISH!!!!!!!!! BARGA IS IN ITALY