Okay, I'm still reading Wallace Stevens: The Collected Poems (Vintage Books, 1982), many, many lunar cycles after beginning it (with a long way to go). I have to say, I hated the first 50 pages. Bizarre, inaccessible, weird, are a few of the words that came to mind along the way. And how am I going to finish this? has often plagued me while using the toilet (yup, W.S. is in my bathroom).
Around page 51, though, things start looking up. We move from oddball narratives to evocative images and things I can actually kind of understand. I know there are academics cringing out there. I know that there is merit in those first pages that I don't have the energy to find. Sorry about that, but I'm not trying to be a scholar. I'm trying to adore poetry here. So here's one that I adore. It makes the book worth reading. I have about 450 pages to go, but as long as there are other gems like this one, I'll keep on keepin' on. If you have a favorite W.S. poem, please let me know!
On the Surface of Things
by Wallace Stevens
I.
In my room, the world is beyond my understanding;
But when I walk I see that it consists of three or four hills and a cloud.
II.
From my balcony, I survey the yellow air,
Reading where I have written,
"The spring is like a belle undressing."
III.
The gold tree is blue.
The singer has pulled his cloak over his head.
The moon is in the folds of the cloak.
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