(no subject)
You know what, there's a post I keep trying to write about being a grown up and changing and growing but the time & energy & pain that can go into that even when it seems like it should now be easy only every time I write it I delete it again straight afterwards.
And then I remembered this poem which I came across a few weeks ago, Karin Boye is the author of Kallocain which I will be nominating for the 1941 Retro Hugos but it turns out she also write some pretty great poetry and this one strikes a chord right now but also fills me with hope because I think I'm stuck somewhere at the end of verse two right now.
So yes. Stealing someone else's words because if I wait to find the right ones myself I may never post again.
Of Course It Hurts by Karin Boye
Of course it hurts when buds burst.
Otherwise why would spring hesitate?
Why would all our fervent longing
be bound in the frozen bitter haze?
The bud was the casing all winter.
What is this new thing, which consumes and bursts?
Of course it hurts when buds burst,
pain for that which grows
and for that which envelops.
Of course it is hard when drops fall.
Trembling with fear they hang heavy,
clammer on the branch, swell and slide -
the weight pulls them down, how they cling.
Hard to be uncertain, afraid and divided,
hard to feel the deep pulling and calling,
yet sit there and just quiver -
hard to want to stay
and to want to fall.
Then, at the point of agony and when all is beyond
help,
the tree's buds burst as if in jubilation,
then, when fear no longer exists,
the branch's drops tumble in a shimmer,
forgetting that they were afraid of the new,
forgetting that they were fearful of the journey -
feeling for a second their greatest security,
resting in the trust
that creates the world.
And then I remembered this poem which I came across a few weeks ago, Karin Boye is the author of Kallocain which I will be nominating for the 1941 Retro Hugos but it turns out she also write some pretty great poetry and this one strikes a chord right now but also fills me with hope because I think I'm stuck somewhere at the end of verse two right now.
So yes. Stealing someone else's words because if I wait to find the right ones myself I may never post again.
Of Course It Hurts by Karin Boye
Of course it hurts when buds burst.
Otherwise why would spring hesitate?
Why would all our fervent longing
be bound in the frozen bitter haze?
The bud was the casing all winter.
What is this new thing, which consumes and bursts?
Of course it hurts when buds burst,
pain for that which grows
and for that which envelops.
Of course it is hard when drops fall.
Trembling with fear they hang heavy,
clammer on the branch, swell and slide -
the weight pulls them down, how they cling.
Hard to be uncertain, afraid and divided,
hard to feel the deep pulling and calling,
yet sit there and just quiver -
hard to want to stay
and to want to fall.
Then, at the point of agony and when all is beyond
help,
the tree's buds burst as if in jubilation,
then, when fear no longer exists,
the branch's drops tumble in a shimmer,
forgetting that they were afraid of the new,
forgetting that they were fearful of the journey -
feeling for a second their greatest security,
resting in the trust
that creates the world.