Well, I got some great feedback on that post, both in my inbox, and snooping through my site meter to another blog.
From Mrs. Wittingshire :
"I laughed about your Red Wheelbarrow. I don't "get" WCW either--but someone told me that he wrote that particular poem when he went to see a very sick little girl (he was a doctor) and, standing beside her sickbed, looked out the bedroom window and saw that scene. It's the mundane moments that make up our lives, and that, if we pay attention to them, help us see how precious life is; but we so often only notice them if we're threatened with loss. WHICH as we all know isn't supposed to be the way you read a poem, having to know its context, but all the same I liked the poem far better for knowing it."
Mr. Standfast's blog had this to say about my lack of comprehension:
"...didn't you ever look at something homely and ordinary, something that until then you'd always managed to overlook, and suddenly you recognized its beauty, and even had the feeling that this simple thing was not only beautiful but important? I mean, that's the essense of the art of someone like Andrew Wyeth, after all. It might almost seem, at that moment of recognition, that everything depends on this homely thing. Sure, that's an exaggeration. Poet's exaggerate. The world will go on whether we stop to notice or not. Whether, in fact, the object of our perception had ever existed or not. And yet, yes, there is something important going on when we simply look. When we simply perceive! I'm quite convinced that much does indeed depend on this. So give William Carlos another opportunity to tell you once more about the red wheel barrow and the chickens in the rain."
I am giving Dr. Williams another chance, and am happy to learn from those that take a moment to read and comment on the posts here at A Circle of Quiet. Thanks for the added insight and the challenge.
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