Later today, if
the forecast holds, these tower-
ing clouds will give way
to thunder and rain.
Now they complete a sublime
image: two white swans
incandescently
groom themselves in the cloud’s
shimmer on the bay.
Author: Tom D'Evelyn
Tom D'Evelyn is a private editor and writing tutor in Cranston RI and, thanks to the web, across the US and in the UK. He can be reached at tom.develyn@comcast.net. D'Evelyn has a PhD in Comparative Literature from UC Berkeley. Before retiring he held positions at The Christian Science Monitor, Harvard University Press, Boston University and Brown University. He ran a literary agency for ten years, publishing books by Leonard Nathan and Arthur Quinn, among others. Before moving to Portland OR he was managing editor at Single Island Press, Portsmouth NH. He blogs at http://tdevelyn.com and other sites.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 21.7.21
The individual is the great mystery. See “Faith and Reason in Continental and Japanese Philosophy: Reading Tanabe Hajime and William Desmond” by Takeshi Morisato (Bloomsbury, 2019).
The silent reader
leaning over her book in
the noisy cafe.
The TV. Locals
catching up. Old men acting
young. Then there’s her space.
She starts, looks at her
watch, and packs up. Home, office:
this place is heaven.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 20.7.21
”The possibility of not being is constitutive of the being of creation.” Desmond, G&B, 330.
The sucking sound of
high tide in the tall grass and
breakwater, the shrill
cries of gulls that twist
overhead, go on as if
there were no plague, no
culture wars. Between
innocence and responsi-
bility this pause.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 19.7.21
A bank of grey clouds
moves over the water, a-
bove it lighter grey
sky glows from afar.
Description is for skeptics.
No humidity!
Today deserves praise.
I look forward to writing.
Ducks ripple away.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 18.7.21
Basho considered haiku as “another vehicle for entering the True Way” (Sato, Road 22). The metaxu is such a way, opening to every source that transcends it.
I wonder why I’m
happy folding clothes and scrub-
bing the tub. My bo-
dy hums along while
my mind is vacant. I pay
attention to wrin-
kles and yellow spots
on porcelain. Perfection
I save for my verse.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 17.7.21
Ferocious thunder
cracking just beyond the eaves.
It’s not me this time.
I’d give anything
to write a haiku that cracked
the sound barrier.
I wait for the rain.
The window sill glistens, drops
gather sheet lightening.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 16.7.21
My restless mind rests
on some Canadian geese
at rest in the Bay.
Neither far or near
to each other, nor facing
this way or that, calm
in the up and down
rhythm of the tide. Order
sometimes makes no sense.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 15.7.21
The poet occupies the between, the metaxu (Plato’s word, but the idea is common—between the outside and the inside, and between lower things and higher. Here I use a famous Chinese poet as symbol and my own living situation as contingency. (This concept of the between draws on Augustine’s elegant formula for his metaphysical journey.)
Summer evening.
Smoke from the neighbor’s bar-b-
que— cedar chips, sal-
mon. I read Po Chu-i
but leave the window open.
If I write something,
my voice will blow with
the smoke, blend with small voices
from high in the trees.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 14.7.21
“Between extremities / Man runs his course.” W. B. Yeats, “Vacillation”
The sound of laughter
over the water, the sound
of sorrow the same.
I slow my pace to
find the source I cannot see—
echoing, a strange
wild civilized fes-
tive sound, sorrow and joy to-
gether. The tears flow.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 13.7.21
I don’t know tanka
that feature summer’s sky blue
hydrangea but
it’s there among the
overgrown rhododendrons
of the older houses.
I’m always startled
by its assertive pale blues
on hot summer days.
