The previous title of this blog, Words Arranged, was adopted from my writer’s web site of the same name. It hasn’t set well with me as the title for this blog, as it doesn’t say anything about the contents deposited herein.
Mourning the Broken Balance is from a poem by Robinson Jeffers that aptly reflects my feelings about the Homo sapiens experiment, and its ultimate failure. I’m neither pessimistic nor morbid, mind you. I’m quite optimistic about the future of life on this beleaguered planet. As Jean often reminds me, a thousand years from now, everything will be OK. I look forward to that eventuality.
From: The Broken Balance
by Robinson Jeffers
Mourning the broken balance, the hopeless prostration of the earth
Under men’s hands and their minds,
The beautiful places killed like rabbits to make a city,
The spreading fungus, the slime-threads
And spores; my own coast’s obscene future: I remember the farther
Future, and the last man dying
Without succession under the confident eyes of the stars.
It was only a moment’s accident,
The race that plagued us; the world resumes the old lonely immortal
Splendor; from here I can even
Perceive that that snuffed candle had something . . . a fantastic virtue,
A faint and unshapely pathos . . .
So death will flatter them at last: what, even the bald ape’s by-shot
Was moderately admirable?
Click HERE for the rest of the poem.