It’s like when your morning alarm goes off and calls you out of your dream world. But for a few moments — they mix and your alarm is in your dream and your dream welcomes it and creates a story around it.
That’s what poetry and beautiful writing is like to me: I’m stuck in my world but I can hear the music from the other world.
“For it’s neither the fall nor the coming to in spring —
neither shrug of the shoulders nor sudden foray
down that boring ‘little road of the King’–
but something else that makes me wary:
how I throw off the snowy sheet and icy quilt
made of feathers from some flock
of Otherworldly birds, how readily I am beguiled
by a sunny smile, how he offers me a wing”
“I Fall in Love” by Nuala Ni Dhomhnaill
(Original Irish translated by Paul Muldoon)
wonderful life 