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Showing posts from January, 2014

"No one ever promised for sure that we would sing"

An Introduction to Literature By William Stafford Look: no one ever promised for sure that we would sing. We have decided to moan. In a strange dance that we don't understand till we do it, we have to carry on. Just as in sleep you have to dream the exact dream to round out your life, so we have to live that dream into stories and hold them close at you, close at the edge we share, to be right. We find it an awful thing to meet people, serious or not, who have turned into vacant effective people, so far lost that they won't believe their own feelings enough to follow them out. The authentic is a line from one thing along to the next; it interests us. Strangely, it relates to what works, but it is not quite the same. It never swerves for revenge, Or profit or fame: it holds together something more than the world, this line. And we are your wavery efforts at following it. Are you coming? Good: now it is time.