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Contemplative, Robinson, in English Clear filters

ContemplativeC. J. Robinson

The Top Of The Giant Oak

I was a boy when I first climbed the Oak, Whose branches were so vast They seemed to stretch out for hundreds Of feet in all directions Whose limbs reached and searched, Groping for the touch of the other trees Even though the other trees shrank away from it's majestic size There was a barrier that I wanted to tear down So that I might see why the other trees Would want to withhold their leaves from the Oak And as I struggled to climb, Scraping my shins and tearing away the skin From the tips of my fingers I also found that I could dissolve my self-doubt I reached the top at sunset And I discovered not God
ContemplativeC. J. Robinson

The Closet Monster

Because of this, I've long since been a Fan of small spaces Many times, I've made my bed in the Nooks and crannies of those people Who were more attractive than me Or stronger than me, Those who could stand up to bullies Instead of tucking their head down and Trying to be small But being small is what gets So many of us into this mess I hated being weak, because weak made me Be small and small made me be weak And so I found a place Where I could be small and weak And it was still okay
ContemplativeKit Robinson

Angel Shakes at Lucky's

speech has chinks in its wall of sound. through them I hear the Pleiades blink off for the night. it's called "after hours". lean buildings stand, fresh and legible paint slips hoist, and men are poised in relief against. Lucky Arch's, a proposed monument to that sound.
ContemplativeEdwin Arlington Robinson

For Arvia

You Eyes, you large and all-inquiring Eyes, That look so dubiously into me, And are not satisfied with what you see, Tell me the worst and let us have no lies: Tell me the secret of your scrutinies, And of myself. Am I a Mystery? Am I a Boojum--or just Company? What do you say? What do you think, You Eyes? You say not; but you think, beyond a doubt; And you have the whole world to think about, With very little time for little things. So let it be; and let it all be fair-- For you, and for the rest who cannot share Your gold of unrevealed awakenings.
ContemplativeEdwin Arlington Robinson

But for the Grace of God

There is a question that I ask, And ask again: What hunger was half-hidden by the mask That he wore then? There was a word for me to say That I said not; And in the past there was another day That I forgot: A dreary, cold, unwholesome day, Racked overhead,-- As if the world were turning the wrong way, And the sun dead: A day that comes back well enough Now he is gone. What then? Has memory no other stuff To seize upon?
ContemplativeEdwin Arlington Robinson

Stafford's Cabin

Once there was a cabin here, and once there was a man; And something happened here before my memory began. Time has made the two of them the fuel of one flame And all we have of them is now a legend and a name. All I have to say is what an old man said to me, And that would seem to be as much as there will ever be. "Fifty years ago it was we found it where it sat."-- And forty years ago it was old Archibald said that. "An apple tree that's yet alive saw something, I suppose, Of what it was that happened there, and what no mortal knows. Some one on the mountain heard far off a master shriek, And then there was a light that showed the way for men to seek.
ContemplativeEdwin Arlington Robinson

The Torrent

I found a torrent falling in a glen Where the sun's light shone silvered and leaf-split; The boom, the foam, and the mad flash of it All made a magic symphony; but when I thought upon the coming of hard men To cut those patriarchal trees away, And turn to gold the silver of that spray, I shuddered. Yet a gladness now and then Did wake me to myself till I was glad In earnest, and was welcoming the time For screaming saws to sound above the chime Of idle waters, and for me to know The jealous visionings that I had had Were steps to the great place where trees and torrents go.
ContemplativeEdwin Arlington Robinson

James Wetherell

We never half believed the stuff They told about James Wetherell; We always liked him well enough, And always tried to use him well; But now some things have come to light, And James has vanished from our view, -- There is n't very much to write, There is n't very much to do.
ContemplativeEdwin Arlington Robinson

Paraphrase

We shriek to live, but no man ever lives Till he has rid the ghost of human breath; We dream to die, but no man ever dies Till he has quit the road that runs to death.
ContemplativeEdwin Arlington Robinson

Unity

As eons of incalculable strife Are in the vision of one moment caught, So are the common, concrete things of life Divinely shadowed on the walls of Thought.

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