Night does not show things, it suggests them. It disturbes and surprises us with its strangeness. It liberates forces within us which are dominated by our reason during the daytime.” ~ Brassai

                   

                   

“This Night” by Black Lab

                   

In the Secular Night

In the secular night you wander around
alone in your house. It’s two-thirty.
Everyone has deserted you,
or this is your story;
you remember it from being sixteen,
when the others were out somewhere, having a good time,
or so you suspected,
and you had to baby-sit.
You took a large scoop of vanilla ice-cream
and filled up the glass with grapejuice
and ginger ale, and put on Glenn Miller
with his big-band sound,
and lit a cigarette and blew the smoke up the chimney,
and cried for a while because you were not dancing,
and then danced, by yourself, your mouth circled with purple.
Now, forty years later, things have changed,
and it’s baby lima beans.
It’s necessary to reserve a secret vice.
This is what comes from forgetting to eat
at the stated mealtimes. You simmer them carefully,
drain, add cream and pepper,
and amble up and down the stairs,
scooping them up with your fingers right out of the bowl,
talking to yourself out loud.
You’d be surprised if you got an answer,
but that part will come later.
There is so much silence between the words,
you say. You say, The sensed absence
of God and the sensed presence
amount to much the same thing,
only in reverse.
You say, I have too much white clothing.
You start to hum.
Several hundred years ago
this could have been mysticism
or heresy. It isn’t now.
Outside there are sirens.
Someone’s been run over.
The century grinds on.
~ Margaret Atwood
                   

couldn’t decide between the two, so posting both . . .
                   
The Starry Night

“That does not keep me from having a terrible need of—shall I say the word—religion.

Then I go out at night to paint the stars.” ~ Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to his brother
The town does not exist
except where one black-haired tree slips
up like a drowned woman into the hot sky.
The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die.
It moves. They are all alive.
Even the moon bulges in its orange irons
to push children, like a god, from its eye.
The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die:
into that rushing beast of the night,
sucked up by that great dragon, to split
from my life with no flag,
no belly,
no cry.
~ Anne Sexton
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3 thoughts on “Night does not show things, it suggests them. It disturbes and surprises us with its strangeness. It liberates forces within us which are dominated by our reason during the daytime.” ~ Brassai

  1. Both poems are quite interesting, can’t grasp each piece though…

    Night: I want to hear the owl and his baby again.
    The moon flower is blooming – I’ve missed two other blooms…

    I hope you are having a good weekend….

      • I don’t remember if the house where I grew up was like that totally. Maybe you could hear some trucks from 301. I do remember spending a week in the Sperryville, VA area – probably in 1973 or 74. That was quiet. It was heaven. I’ve always dreamed of living there. (It may be a bedroom community of DC now.)

        Even here there are times, late at night, where you can imagine you are in the middle of nowhere…

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