Despite the doubt and forked ambivalence,
Approach, avoid, ignore, yet hope to share
In some impossible benevolence,
To care and not to care my muted prayer;
Despite the years of practiced lassitude,
And fearful of the all-consuming dare,
Adrift, unmoored, bereft of gratitude,
Consumed, perplexed, and wondering how I’ll fare—
When of a sudden you greet me as a guest
Within the great Unknowing Cloud, the why
Forgotten. Moored in you and perfect rest,
My burden down, it is enough that I
With you, within, below, between, above,
May swim and frolic in a sea of love.
—Thomas H. Bast
On Getting Old
Two years plus a couple of weeks ago, I wrote a column that began thus: “I am…
Dostoevsky’s Credo
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Large Language Poetry
In my ideal undergraduate course in literary criticism, the first semester would include a brisk introduction to…