We share the same name (not family though), the same sense of humour & somehow Marie in this poem has managed, in stanza III to pretty encapsulate exactly how i look at the world these days, as a madmen, irritated with people’s “positions” & “ideologies” & willing to toss it to the dogs for “light & sound” though i’d switch “quantity” & “quality”.i don’t say this lightly, but i think this is one of the best poems i have ever read.
“All around me the city looked ripe with dying.” John Irving, The World According to Garp.
In summer the houses with yellow
lighted windows and open doors
pour out music. You think you know
her but you don’t. It’s natural at this
time of year to admire grace and agility,
especially when girls vie with new growth
on the fruit trees. Over-ripe is the word
the poet uses about herself too often,
although that’s surely for later, at a time
when there’s something to compare with.
“My decision to marry was partly to prove
a point.” The light and the sound combine,
the light falling on the feet of a dancing
girl. A madman is merely someone who
has deliberately abandoned civilization
in favour of walking perpetually into
light and sound; madness is therefore a
measure of quantity rather than quality,
the hand being insane…
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