The Inner Valley

"The very meaninglessness of life forces man to create his own meaning. Children, of course, begin life with an untarnished sense of wonder, a capacity to experience total joy at something as simple as the greenness of a leaf; but as they grow older, the awareness of death and decay begins to impinge on their consciousness and subtly erode their joie de vivre, their Idealism—and their assumption of Immortality. As a child matures, he sees death and pain everywhere about him, and begins to lose faith in the ultimate goodness of man. But if he’s reasonably strong -and lucky- he can emerge from this twilight of the soul into a rebirth of life’s élan. Both because of and in spite of his awareness of the meaninglessness of life, he can forge a fresh sense of purpose and affirmation. He may not recapture the same pure sense of wonder he was born with, but he can shape something far more enduring and sustaining. The most terrifying fact about the universe is not that it is hostile

My throat pulsates with pleasure when I see true art I am oligophrenic because I believe in nothing but poetry and oligophrenics are uninhibited and throw themselves into sex ******* ✎ Angela Marinescu (b. Arad, Romania, 8 July 1941). ◙ Artwork: Kees van Dongen

Be nobody’s darling; Be an outcast. Take the contradictions Of your life And wrap around You like a shawl, To parry stones To keep you warm. Watch the people succumb To madness With ample cheer; Let them look askance at you And you askance reply. Be an outcast; Be pleased to walk alone (Uncool) Or line the crowded River beds With other impetuous Fools. Make a merry gathering On the bank Where thousands perished For brave hurt words They said. But be nobody’s darling; Be an outcast. Qualified to live Among your dead. ******* ✎ Alice Walker (b. Eatonton, Georgia, U.S., 9 February 1944).

Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay. ******* ✍  Robert Lee Frost (San Francisco, California, 26 March 1874 ~ Boston, Massachusetts, 29 January 1963). ◙ Artwork: Odilon Redon

In a pocket of earth  I buried all the accents  of my mother tongue  there they lie like needles of pine  assembled by ants  one day the stumbling cry  of another wanderer may set them alight  then warm and comforted  he will hear all night  the truth as lullaby. ******* ✎ John Berger (Stoke Newington, London, England, 5 November 1926 ~ Paris, France, 2 January 2017). ◙ Artwork: Maurice de Vlaminck

It comes about that the drifting of these curtains Is full of long motions, as the ponderous Deflations of distance; or as clouds Inseparable from their afternoons; Or the changing of light, the dropping Of the silence, wide sleep and solitude Of night, in which all motion Is beyond us, as the firmament, Up-rising and down-falling, bares The last largeness, bold to see. ******* ✎ Wallace Stevens (Reading, Pennsylvania, 2 October 1879 ~ Hartford, Connecticut, 2 August 1955). ◙ Artwork: Andrew Wyeth

"Time passed. But time flows in many streams. Like a river, an inner stream of time will flow rapidly at some places and sluggishly at others, or perhaps even stand hopelessly stagnant. Cosmic time is the same for everyone, but human time differs with each person. Time flows in the same way for all human beings; every human being flows through time in a different way." ******* ✍  Yasunari Kawabata (Osaka, Japan,   11 June 1899 ~ Zushi, Kanagawa, Japan, 16 April 1972.) ◙ Artwork: Marianne von Werefkin.

"It is occasionally possible, just for brief moments, to find the words that will unlock the doors of all those many mansions in the head and express something – perhaps not much, just something – of the crush of information that presses in on us from the way a crow flies over and the way a man walks and the look of a street and from what we did one day a dozen years ago. Words that will express something of the deep complexity that makes us precisely the way we are." ******* ✎ Edward James "Ted" Hughes (Mytholmroyd, Yorkshire, England, 17 August 1930 ~ London, England, 28 October 1998). ◙ Artwork: Hughie Lee-Smith.

“My soul, where are you? Do you hear me? I speak, I call you - are you there? I have returned, I am here again. I have shaken the dust of all the lands from my feet, and I have come to you, I am with you. After long years of long wandering, I have come to you again. Should I tell you everything I have seen, experienced, and drunk in? Or do you not want to hear about all the noise of life and the world? But one thing you must know: the one thing I have learned is that one must live this life. Do you still know me? How long the separation lasted! Everything has become so different. And how did I find you? How strange my journey was! What words should I use to tell you on what twisted paths a good star has guided me to you? Give me your hand, my almost forgotten soul. How warm the joy at seeing you again, you long disavowed soul. Life has led me back to you. Let us thank the life I have lived for all the happy and all the sad hours, for every joy, for every sadness. My soul, my journey