To expect truth to come from thinking signifies that we mistake the need to think with the urge to know. Thinking can and must be employed in the attempt to know, but in the exercise of this function it is never itself; it is but the handmaiden of an altogether different enterprise.
~ Hannah Arendt, The Life of the Mind
Some bird with feet the approximate gauge of an H.O. train has laid a wavy track along the side of the house, tooting the while, or so I’d guess, and at the front porch door a mouse has left its busy back-and-forth and then dithered away. Crossing the yard, a rabbit has hopped from one side of its course to the other and back, as rabbits will, avoiding the land mines. And each of our dogs, always the ones for a touch of sentiment, stepped out at dawn to leave a yellow peony.
Ted Kooser. February 23. Six Inches of New Snow. Winter Morning Walks: One Hundred Postcards to Jim Harrison (Carnegie Mellon University Press, 2000)
Mary Oliver, from Long Life: Essays And Other Writings (Da Capo Press, 2005)
In fair weather,
the shy past keeps its distance.
Old loves, old regrets, old humiliations
look on from afar.
They stand back under the trees.
No one would think
to look for them there.
But in the fog they come closer.
You can feel them there
by the road as you slowly walk past.
Still as fence posts they wait,
dark and reproachful,
each stepping forward in turn.
Ted Kooser. February 16. An early morning fog. Winter Morning Walks: One Hundred Postcards to Jim Harrison (Carnegie Mellon University Press, 2000)
From a poetic perspective
I would like to say that
it is not my responsibility to write
what is clean and free from bullshit.
It is my responsibility to write what I want to write.
— Lisa Marie Basile, interviewed by Amelia Shroyer for Huffington Post