Making No Sense
by Bob Schwartz
I looked at the stars
Like an astrologer
Saw constellations
Like an astronomer
Saw suns and planets.
I looked again
And saw stars.
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I looked at the stars
Like an astrologer
Saw constellations
Like an astronomer
Saw suns and planets.
I looked again
And saw stars.
What do you mean no sense?
Thanks for the question.
Archibald Macleish wrote, “A poem should not mean / But be.” That would leave countless critics and teachers out of work, and would leave me and you without a dialogue.
So. We spend ourselves making sense of things. It is pretty much an imperative that drives us. Me too. We get pretty good at it. The astrologers make constellations, the astronomers make deep physics. But that “sense” is not at all what it is. What it is is stars. The thing is stars. The stars themselves. No more but no less.
How’s that for an answer?
To quote William Carlos Williams on the thusness and suchness of things:
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow