Guest poem sent in by Steve Ornish
(Poem #1104) Untitled
What grieves me is not What lies within the heart, But those things of beauty Which never can be . . . They are the shapeless shapes Which pass, though sorrow Cannot know them Nor love dream them. They are as though sadness Were a tree and, one by one, Its leaves were to fall Half outlined in the mist.
When Fernando Pessoa, a Portuguese poet, died in 1935 his work was little known, even in Portugal. Over the last few decades, his fame has spread and his poetry translated into many languages. For me, this poem speaks to the grief--not from an actual loss (i.e., "not what lies within the heart)--but from the unrealized experiences that occur in relationships throughout one's life "those things of beauty which can never be." The paradox is that we are mostly unconscious of these missed opportunities: "the shapeless shapes which pass" which cannot be known through sorrow, love, or dreams. -Steven A. Ornish, MD Biography and some links: [broken link] http://www.poets.org/poets/poets.cfm?prmID=771