That bench is in Elizabeth Park, in Hartford, CT. That’s the park Wallace Stevens walked through on his way to work. It is also the park that inspired this:
Perhaps
The truth depends on a walk around a lake,A composing as the body tires, a stop
To see hepatica, a stop to watch
A definition growing certain andA wait within that certainty, a rest
In the swags of pine-trees bordering the lake.
Perhaps there are times of inherent excellenceAs a man and woman meet and love forthwith.
Perhaps there are moments of awakening,
Extreme, fortuitous, personal, in whichWe more than awaken, sit on the edge of sleep,
As on an elevation, and behold
The academies like structures in a mist.
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I do so love “perhaps/ the truth depends on…”
exactly my kind of poem.
thanks!
–gail
I’m so glad! And you’re welcome. Next Thursday, I’m going over to Cal to get my library card. Want to meet up then? (maybe I should send you an official e-mail about this!!)
Ah, Lily, you are a balm to this soul. xo
Why, Marie, that is such a kind thing to say. Thank you. xo