Massive upgrades all around as I had to move some of my blog sites over to Dreamhost only to find that Dreamhost is desperately repairing itself – or so I want to believe. After hitting my head against the wall I realized that the problem was not me but them.
Of course, it could be in the stars – and then for some reason I recall the first lines of Shakespeare’s sonnet: When in disgrace with Fortune and men’s eyes… for that is what I was feeling for a time there.
I googled the sonnet, and here it is because it is beautiful –
When, in disgrace with Fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least,
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
So I was troubling heaven with my bootless cries, or in this case, support stood in for heaven, but my cries were definitely bootless! Now who is thee? is it you, gentle reader, or is it you, dear wordpress? or is it the greater YOU, the unseen? Well, I’m still in process, not quite lark-like, but it’s coming on soon.
Now I remember that Ezra Pound said: “Poetry is news that never goes out of date.” I’m again aware that the only way to navigate this extremely complex multiple-layered simultaneous reality is to proceed poetically, fusing forces of fate, meaning, intention, feeling and reality into one pure direct expression producing long term resonance.
Here’s a pic of the hoopoe, the bird who led the gathering in search of the great Simurgh in Attar’s epic poem, The Conference of the Birds.
Meanwhile, we have programmed the new cellphones (another upgrade) and await further instructions from contacts in our robotic world of (drum roll) technicological overwhelmnation. What McLuhan and Barrington Nevitt called computer “two bit wit” fragments the world into nano-mites, while poetry integrates consciousness into resonant meaning through both time and place. Now isn’t that the lark I glimpsed? The tip of its wing-feather as it flew on?
(Surprise: Link here to see a random post from my blog.)