lunar paraphrase, by wallace stevens

the moon is the mother of pathos and pity

when, at the wearier end of november,
her old light moves along the branches,
feebly, slowly, depending upon them;
when the body of jesus hangs in a pallor,
humanly near, and the figure of mary,
touched on by hoar-frost, shrinks in a shelter
made by the leaves, that have rotted and fallen;
when over the houses, a golden illusion
brings back an earlier season of quiet
and quieting dreams in the sleepers in darkness -

the moon is the mother of pathos and pity.

(from Stevens, Collected Poetry & Prose, 89-90)

*     *     *     *     *

One of the reasons why I love Stevens is that I can relate to his relationship with his own doldrums, his own 'fermentation' (aka rotting), the monastic 'dailyness' of his work and home-life.  It wasn't all booze-laced evenings with the Arensbergs, you know.

I've noticed that in all the alchemical literature there's a great deal of emphasis on the importance of 'fermentation,' 'rotting,' and generally lying in neglect until turning green (myth of Inanna). It's an important stage in the alchemical process, in the process of spiritualization and, I would assume, in the creative process.  Stevens writes beautifully of it.

I love how, in a quiet moment, he recalls previous quiet moments, and 'season(s) of quiet.'  Only a true contemplative would think to do that.

Addendum:

These must be scenes from his daily life: the crucifix, a statue of our lady on some leaf-laden lawn.  Gives some credence to the story that he may have converted to Catholicism before he died.  It does seem that he had some kind of attraction to it, and as Christian religious sects go, it had perhaps more going for someone of Stevens’ sensibility and mentality.

Also, I love the vulnerability and dependency of these images of 'God'  - the Moon 'depends' upon the weary november  branches, 'the body of jesus hangs ('depends') in a pallor, humanly near,' and even mary, the mother of god,  must be sheltered as she shrinks back from the touch of frost.   My god, talk about 'pathos and pity' !

 

Comments

[Lori Witzel]

I'm just so glad I can come to this quiet corner and be still.

Stevens' aging moon just makes me ache, in all the best ways.

[kasturi]

this poem really fits at this season of lughnasa, the season of the 'descending sun', when we turn the corner of summer towards Autumn and that november moon.

[frontline plus]

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F.Thompson

[Harry]

this poem really fits at this season of lughnasa, the season of the 'descending sun', when we turn the corner of summer towards Autumn and that november moon. http://www.fullmediafire.com

[christian louboutin schaussures]

Blossom, actually should nothing to do with the season. A lot of time in his life is confused, find a better reason to let himself not to want to some other people think unimportant matters.
We all like a clown, in our lifetime playing five balls, the five balls is work, health, family, friends, and spirit. Five balls with only one is rubber, fall can play up and that is work. The other four balls are use made of glass, the off, broken...