“it came in a language…”

I have been dedicated this week (in my studies) to history, memory, forgetting and remembering. Hence, in one of the articles (Crane 1997) I came across a fragment of a poem. As I think that it touches upon some of the innermost aspects of these (relevant) topics, I decided to share it:

it came in a language

Untouched by pity, in lines, lavish and dark,

Where death is reborn and sent into the world as a gift,

So the future, with no voice of its own, nor hope

Of ever becoming more than it will be, might mourn.

(“Orpheus Alone,” from The Continuous Life: Poems by Mark Strand, http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/182870)



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