Mario Gruber_pintor brasileiro _ Mário Gruber _ painter_ (23)


Yes! And, whether in the present or in latter worlds
Hereafter, we’ll own nothing of what it is we think we’ve missed nor seek
A separate peace, nor cause at all to stand and stare in disbelief:
I simply always am and ever be while all else is cold calamity. The turn
Of seasons, monoliths of months in stacks, my Book of Hours glows
Though presence at the banquet here is moot. The call
Toward the Centre as with all most sacred rites makes little sense at all.
Delight me, then, in invitations only. Journeys through all rôles
from perfection to perfection puts all yesterdays as tomorrow’s dread—
The subjugation of the will to its appointment. Still, what is read
In casual events will quicken life with blessings for the living dead
And raise both death and dying to a point of pure liquidity. We are led;
We do not lead. Wait, my friend, we do inform ourselves, the eye
And heart assume new forms and places that no soul may easily deny.
Who here rises, the dead, and who here descends save the living? I ask
And whole generations flee from me. Beauty drains beneath the sun; my walls,
My will cannot contain quantities of qualities; my heart cannot recall
So much: a single letter; a word; a sentence incomplete; the task
Transcends the discipline of syntax. Yes. I dwell on mountain peaks
This side of fascination—in and of myself a centre—a light so blinding
That senses—gifts within me—must capitulate in time, the blinding
Never seen by others and not at all so broad, Enough! Containers leach,
Constructions of the minute hand do not survive through time’s evation,
Tears and laughter wanting waste the night. My flight’s elation,
The length and breadth of all I see, and nothing in me speaks
To this. I leave it where I first beheld it, glory
So intense that who it is and who saw it first no longer read the story.

…painting by Mario Gruber…


2 responses to ““Yes!”

  1. The moment, the point the circle, is ineffable one electron-step beyond it’s infinite circumference; and yet the awe-struck tongue must wag in the unspeakable wind of its majesty. It is the burden of glimpsing. Perhaps, when the flower fully opens, sweet silence will persuade us more completely, my friend. In the meanwhile, let us capture words in the breath of each moment…yes!

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