Entrance by Dana Gioia and Entrance by Rainer Maria Rilke

Moon & Tree by Marion

"Interrogations at Noon" by Dana Gioia

Entrance
By Dana Gioia

Whoever you are: step out of doors tonight,
Out of the room that lets you feel secure.
Infinity is open to your sight.
Whoever you are.
With eyes that have forgotten how to see
From viewing things already too well-known,
Lift up into the dark a huge, black tree
And put it in the heavens: tall, alone.
And you have made the world and all you see.
It ripens like the words still in your mouth.
And when at last you comprehend its truth,
Then close your eyes and gently set it free.

(After Rilke)

from: Interrogations at Noon, 2001

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Entrance
by Rainer Maria Rilke

Whovever you are: step out in to the evening
out of your living room, where everything is so known;
your house stands as the last thing before great space:
Whoever you are.
With your eyes, which in their fatigue can just barely
free themselves from the worn-out thresholds,
very slowly, lift a single black tree
and place it against the sky, slender and alone.
With this you have made the world. And it is large
and like a word that is still ripening in silence.
And, just as your will grasps their meaning,
they in turn will let go, delicately, of your eyes . . .

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I always enjoy reading poems that other poets have written, inspired by another poet's poem.  (Did that make sense?)  This poem by Ms. Gioia is one of my favorites. 

It's a dreary, rainy day here in the swamps, but we're all looking forward to seeing our New Orleans Saints play in the Super Bowl on Sunday.  The entire state has gone Saints crazy.  It's fabulous and fun.  I'm in a winter funk.  I think I need to color my hair and get it trimmed to cheer me up. 

I'd like to ask you all to pray for my precious friend, Renee, today.  She lost her beloved mother after a long battle with cancer. 

Love & Blessings,

~*~Marion~*~

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"For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?" ~Kahlil Gibran, from "The Prophet", On Death

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All say, "How hard it is that we have to die" - a strange complaint to come from the mouths of people who have had to live. ~Mark Twain