On the way home I had a moment sitting in the car where I was deeply moved looking at the sky outside through the car window. The worlds that sprang to mind unbidden were Walt Whitman's: "when lilacs last in dooryard bloom'd". And then there was also Carl Sandburg, that poem about the lady in a red dress. Two poets of and for America, who capture the spirit of America during an age. For Sandburg, perhaps a secret spirit, but nonetheless. And one novelist: Hemingway. I felt deeply that the Powers That Be were pleased of this. Only two, and only one. This country I love is so new, and yet also so ancient.
No comments:
Post a Comment