Freedom is not to be proved but is rather a postulate of action. Thus excellent Berdyaev, who has meant much to me, although I must shake my head and make a face when he undertakes to explain the Holy Ghost. We are unbelievers, Cindy, which may be (I regularly think it is) our misfortune. But we are still existentialist lovers. Yes, strange Soren Kierkegaard of Hamlet's province would approve of us--well, somewhat--in our unchurchly dark devotions. In Syracuse the rain falls every day, or so it seems; the faces of the good unchurchly burghers of Edgehill Road are as bland as marshmallows and as puffy. To live here, to love here, as Jack our friend the Gilbert would say, sighing, smiling, requires an extraordinary knowledge of freedom, unhistorical and reinvented by us here in every act, as when I brought for you for a love token the plastic sack of just sprouted lilies-of-the-valley to plant around the steps of our arched doorway. That was phenomenon, not poetry, not symbol, the act without a proof, freedom-in-love.
Added: 1 Sep 2001 | Last Read: 24 Apr 2017 8:55 PM | Viewed: 4656 times
A PoetryNotes™ eBook is available for this poem for delivery within 24 hours, and usually available within minutes during normal business hours.
ON SALE - only
For more information...