The physical world can not be known in the way poetry aspires to know it, intimately, ecstatically, in a way that heals the ache of one’s separation from the world, it seems to me, outside of the sundering of knowledge which contemplation is. And contemplation’s knowing is not a knowing at all, offers nothing clear and distinct, nothing sure, universal. The contemplative does not retreat from the world with a knowledge enriched with names for things, a mental map of efficient causalities. Yet in contemplation one loves the world and wants to be in the world in love without skewing it […] Language asserts and cancels itself, names the world then erases the name, and in this restlessness one glimpses the aptness of confusion before the ungraspable diversity of here. Silence.
Tim Lilburn, Living in the World as If it Were a Home
i went to old town lilburn today scoping out a place for a photo shoot. I did a family photo shoot there a year ago for friends of mine and it is a really nice park. I didn’t realize out extensive the greenway trail was though. it is a great place and i definitely will be going back to walk or run!
Here are some pictures that I took with my iphone.
Rodrigo Diaz, 22, was driving around with his girlfriend and two friends when he pulled into a driveway, thinking they had arrived at another friend’s house, his brother says. But instead he pulled into the driveway of Phillip Sailors, 69, who thought his home was being robbed, his lawyer says.
Poems are praise songs or a careful, lonely moan for the world: either way, it is the world itself that lifts them forward. They are the speechlessness of things ripening, pressing, into language. The poet contributes attention, permeability, a courageous leisure in which transfixity may occur; the poet combs out the lines until they come as close to shining as he can bring them. Yet another sort of silence can be a room you inhabit, a room of waiting, a room which is a sort of ear; writing is this availability, listening’s stripped place, in which the hidden lives of things, pumpkins, poplar groves, might be transcribed; writing is mostly this craning quiet.
Tim Lilburn, “Walking out of Silence” in Desire Never Leaves
Well, it seems I like music that’s about places. Sibelius and Moncayo both wrote music about their native countries (Finland and Mexico respectively) and Douglas Lilburn did the same about his name New Zealand. This work, Aotearoa, means “New Zealand” in Māori. Lilburn wrote two other works about New Zealand, as well - Landfall in Unknown Seas, and A Song of Islands. More importantly, I bet he had a really nice Kiwi accent. Go listen to this while you’re imagining his excellent Kiwi accent.
The BAPS Hindu Temple was amazing. I had to cover my shoulders and my knees. Upon entering, everyone takes off their shoes. No photography inside but the intricate details left me speechless. There’s something about looking at sculptures barefoot.
“Contemplation of nature, like contemplation of God in negative theology, is a knowing which is an unknowing, a frustration of the desire to know in which, nevertheless, this desire persists, heightened, hurtling one forward into the unknowability of unique things.”
—Tim Lilburn, Living in the World As If It Were Home