Three Things

Morning Sun by Edward Hopper

Morning Sun by Edward Hopper

12 October 2013
9:43 AM


What is love? It is my sister, baking carrot cake from scratch at two in the morning, just so we can surprise our father at breakfast. Today’s his birthday.

This poem:

Not Over It
Heather McHugh

        In sympathy with Gaspara Stampa

By woman so touched, so pressed,
detachment being thought
achievable at all

is boggling in itself. Its being
thought achievable by love—but love
for only all (not someone’s single) sentience—

appears the precept of too cold
a form of flame. How much
of a hand in things

relinquishes the hold
of things-at-hand?
What kiss might such

a mind reclaim? A swirl of dust
in Buddhist schools, perhaps.
A view of several solar

systems from above.
Not love.
The thought

appeals as it appals:
Slow learners, we must spurn
the selving sensualities, to feel

for feelers of this kind,
unfasten passion’s burner
to identify what’s under it—

in short, must court
dispassion just
to be compassionate.

A student said about ModPo: “My thirsty love for poetry is fed well and nurtured by this course.”

Off to bed now. It’s silly, my sleeping pattern makes it look like we’re almost in the same timezone.

Good morning,


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