RonPrice
Oct4-04, 09:44 AM
THE INWARD EYE
The poet who senses that there is ‘something there’ will appear to withdraw into himself, into solitude, and will even walk apart in order to avoid being disturbed while he is gathering his material. He draws on material from history, metaphysics, his own childhood, indeed, a landscape inhabited by his deepest loves, a landscape where a ritual embrace of all phenomenal existence takes place secretly and silently. It is like a foretaste of Paradise and it is experienced in a host of different ways, with different frequencies, intensities and meanings. -Ron Price with thanks to Robin Skelton, The Poet’s Calling, Heinemann, London, 1975, p.40.
While I gazed on this holy scene
from a calm ocean where I had been,
images arose within my breast,
in my eyes on mind’s old quest,
full-grown and deep across that terrace,
some ancient beauty, quite the fairest;
‘twas like a dream, this inward look;
‘twas like a mystery in some book.
‘Twas like some music long since gone,
but felt as if ‘twas sweet new song.
And in this bliss of solitude
my inward eye felt purest good.
No need to gaze on that place afar.
It’s in my heart, intense the star. :uhh: :biggrin:
Ron Price
9 April 1996
The poet who senses that there is ‘something there’ will appear to withdraw into himself, into solitude, and will even walk apart in order to avoid being disturbed while he is gathering his material. He draws on material from history, metaphysics, his own childhood, indeed, a landscape inhabited by his deepest loves, a landscape where a ritual embrace of all phenomenal existence takes place secretly and silently. It is like a foretaste of Paradise and it is experienced in a host of different ways, with different frequencies, intensities and meanings. -Ron Price with thanks to Robin Skelton, The Poet’s Calling, Heinemann, London, 1975, p.40.
While I gazed on this holy scene
from a calm ocean where I had been,
images arose within my breast,
in my eyes on mind’s old quest,
full-grown and deep across that terrace,
some ancient beauty, quite the fairest;
‘twas like a dream, this inward look;
‘twas like a mystery in some book.
‘Twas like some music long since gone,
but felt as if ‘twas sweet new song.
And in this bliss of solitude
my inward eye felt purest good.
No need to gaze on that place afar.
It’s in my heart, intense the star. :uhh: :biggrin:
Ron Price
9 April 1996