Let it go....
It is a great thing to have friends. Friends bring wealth in their extended network of experience beyond our own.
A friend of mine had the fortune to be taught by William Empson, at the University of Sheffield. Empson had his 'foibles', shall we say? One moment he could be in the lecture theatre fumbling with his copy of King Lear, before mumbling, Well what can one say about King Lear? and leaving the stage. Another moment he could be in the Star and Garter, decorating the bar with a technicolour yawn.
I interpose a picture of a male Stonechat, just to clear the air.....
To return, refreshed, to my theme.... I never encountered the aforesaid Empson, but through my friend I live in his shadow. Just recently, when recounting the effects of aggressive chemotherapy, he reminded me of the Professor's poetry, in particular indicating his translation of the Buddha's Fire Sermon as introduction to his Collected Poems..... (See below for Land Art, on Courtyard Farm, Ringstead, nothing to do with the Fire Sermon, except that......)
And here a stew of Oystercatchers seem relatively unmoved by the furious flight of a tangle of Knot.....
Let it go
It is this deep blankness is the real thing strange.
The more things happen to you the more you can’t
Tell or remember even what they were.
The contradictions cover such a range.
The talk would talk and go so far aslant.
You don’t want madhouse and the whole thing there.