And immediately
Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.
I get a lot of questions from Tom about death. I don't have any pat answers, though I am compelled at times, by the insistence of his interrogation, to bring God in. I don't mind doing that, having a predilection that way, but I'd rather he found out for himself.
Other times, I wish I could quote this short extract from Larkin's High Windows. It isn't what the poem is about. Not at all. It's just how I feel.
No comments:
Post a Comment