I do realize that poetry–or an attempt at it–about obscure dead philosophers is not exactly a growth industry…
Philosopher (F. H. Bradley)
I do not know whether this in my case is a mark of senility, but I find myself now taking more and more as literal fact what I used in my youth to admire and love as poetry.” –Bradley
McTaggart, on meeting Bradley: “I felt as if a Platonic Idea had walked into the room.”
He lives
Stretched
Taut between
Appearance and reality
Overdone with
Metaphysics
Perhaps
Underdone with
Virtue
He does not much leave the house
As if drumly
Knowledge
Of the Good
Could substitute
For living
In its light
“On all questions, if you push me far enough, at present I end in doubts and perplexities.”
He lives
Systemless
Amid systems
Without a view
In an age
Of worldviews
“The older I grow, the more I recoil from any forced venture in the dark.”
Mortal
And so
Wounded
He picks
The scab
Nothing is
Removed from
Existence by
Being labelled
“Appearance”
He lives
Stuck
With it all
All is real
Even if not
Really real
His habitual mood
Diffident bewilderment–
It is all too
Too much
There is
No lorica
No padding
Against it all
Vulnerability
Is demanded
Bleeding
Is conclusive
Acknowledgement
Of the real
An opened
Wound
The sign
Of self-sacrifice
Increscunt animi, virescit volnere virtus
Philosophy demands
That he extinguish
Spiritual pride
But nothing
Kindles that fire
More
Vanity snuffs
Wisdom
So he must
Not think
He can save
Anyone else
The trouble
Of thinking
The goal
Is to stimulate
Thoughts on
First principles
And not
To supply them
The love
Of wisdom
Is love
Unsatisfied
In the twilight
He sounds out
The idols
He has ears even behind his ears
His truths
Are borne
In time
He lives
Stretched absolutely taut
Between dogmatism
And skepticism
Yes
And
No
Absolutly terrific!
You mentioned some time ago a second book of your poetry to be published. Has it happened?
I am finishing a new manuscript now.