“hell must break before I am lost;”

September 3, 2014 § Leave a comment

I’ve mentioned in the past, to any who may be listening or care, or neither, my love of the poet H.D. Her work holds a power over me that I cannot, nor do I desire to, qualify or explain. Reading much of it closely, I find what I might ordinarily regard as flaws. Perhaps a bit ardent here. Overly esoteric there. Mostly humorless. But the spoken quality of her work is almost — why am I hedging?? — incantatory. I don’t know how many angels and devils I’ve conjured over the years reading her poetry aloud; what spectral kingdoms I’ve summoned; or, for that matter, where they should reign. The greatest literature, perhaps, conjures this belief in ghosts, if not the ghosts themselves. Might it, too, dispel the difference?

If any hold the answers, if indeed these are proper questions at all, surely it would be Eurydice. Would that my reading tonight conjure the spirit of a defiance uncertain of its worth, in the face of a ruthlessness all too certain of its.

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