The Poems of Our Climate - Wallace Stevens

[Larry Robinson]

That is also my favorite line of this gem.

> On Jan 24, 2023, at 5:09 AM, Larry Robinson <Lrobpoet at sonic.net> wrote:
> 
> The Poems of Our Climate
> 
> 
> I
> Clear water in a brilliant bowl,
> Pink and white carnations. The light
> In the room more like a snowy air,
> Reflecting snow. A newly-fallen snow
> At the end of winter when afternoons return.
> Pink and white carnations – one desires
> So much more than that. The day itself
> Is simplified: a bowl of white,
> Cold, a cold porcelain, low and round,
> With nothing more than the carnations there.
> 
> II
> Say even that this complete simplicity
> Stripped one of all one’s torments, concealed
> The evilly compounded, vital I
> And made it fresh in a world of white,
> A world of clear water, brilliant-edged,
> Still one would want more, one would need more,
> More than a world of white and snowy scents.
> 
> III
> There would still remain the never-resting mind,
> So that one would want to escape, come back
> To what had been so long composed.
> The imperfect is our paradise.
> Note that, in this bitterness, delight,
> Since the imperfect is so hot in us,
> Lies in flawed words and stubborn sounds.
> 
> 
> 	- Wallace Stevens
> 
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