R
Robert Harrison
Guest
It is only when we have put our thoughts onto paper
And read what at times comes either by inspiration,
Where words come freely without the need for conscious
Thought. We realise that what we have is written is either
For ourselves or for some other who cares enough to
Understand what the written word has to say.
Instant understanding may not come at first reading,
For even the poet having written the words may have
The need to interpretation for his own writing. Words which
Come by inspiration may not at first reading be fully
Understood. It is therefore by inspiration that words
So given reveal their true meaning.
Not all understand the works of Keats or Coleridge, and
Why? Because of there symbolic meaning. What one reads
May not be what the poet means. What is written is lost
In the readers lack of understanding, for if what one reads
Does not have instant recognition, instant appeal it is passed
Over and a great source of knowledge is lost, discarded as
Being of no value.
I may write.
I saw her look at the lamb and noticed the joy in her face,
A joy that seemed to burst forth in unsung song.
Wordsworths writing.
Towards the lamb she looked; and from that shady place
I unobserved could see the workings of her face:
If nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,
Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little Maid might sing.
Just food for thought.
Robert
And read what at times comes either by inspiration,
Where words come freely without the need for conscious
Thought. We realise that what we have is written is either
For ourselves or for some other who cares enough to
Understand what the written word has to say.
Instant understanding may not come at first reading,
For even the poet having written the words may have
The need to interpretation for his own writing. Words which
Come by inspiration may not at first reading be fully
Understood. It is therefore by inspiration that words
So given reveal their true meaning.
Not all understand the works of Keats or Coleridge, and
Why? Because of there symbolic meaning. What one reads
May not be what the poet means. What is written is lost
In the readers lack of understanding, for if what one reads
Does not have instant recognition, instant appeal it is passed
Over and a great source of knowledge is lost, discarded as
Being of no value.
I may write.
I saw her look at the lamb and noticed the joy in her face,
A joy that seemed to burst forth in unsung song.
Wordsworths writing.
Towards the lamb she looked; and from that shady place
I unobserved could see the workings of her face:
If nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,
Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little Maid might sing.
Just food for thought.
Robert