C.S. Lewis tells us, on the one hand, that through literature we can see with others eyes and then, on the other, that we can never quite get out of our own skins. Whatever we do, something of our own and our own age's making will remain in our experience of all literature.
He says of poetry that poetry once was literature itself but that it has become what it is now by sepertion and is differentiated from prose. Often used rather than received.
A favorite book of mine is Caroline Kennedy's, "The Best Loved Poems of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis" I have written about this book on previous blogs. I have reviewed it on my Amazon link. The book presents a lot of good poems. Good taste. No surprise. Then this one by Jacqueline seems to be one to receive rather than retell. To help see through others eyes. It seems to be literature, itself.
Thougths
Jacqueline Bouvier
I love the Autumn
And yet I cannot say
All the thoughts and things
That me one feel this way.
I love walking on the angry shore,
To watch the angry sea;
Where summer people were before,
But now there's only me.
I love wood fires at night
That have a ruddy glow.
I stare at the flames
And think of long ago.
I love the feeling down inside me
That says to run away
To come and be a gypsy
And laugh the gypsy way.
The tangy tast of apples
The snowy mist at morn,
The wanderlust inside you
When you hear the huntsman's horn.
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