Perhaps in a past life I’d been
by the universe. Georgia sure was.
She was and she was.
Expensively dressed, wild hair,
But thinking gives us all
a familiar dread. Like Wordsworth
who’d dreamt up his immortality ode,
we’d aroused within a kind of shine,
and said with rebuke to all bad things
like hard labor and squalor, and even its
converse, idleness, lack of purpose–
I’m Georgia, and why do I even have to
put up with it: I’ll be prodigious
and I’d be getting ahead.
Prompt: “Magic is everywhere if only we’d knew where to look.” I read this quote/thought this morning. It’s one of those gentle reminders. It’s also the reason why we’re poets. We look and we look, don’t we? So here’s a relevant quote from Wordsworth’s “Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood”, which I’d first came across in my lit geek uni days:
“Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature’s Priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.”
Ponder upon it and come up with some magic, will ya?