June 15, 2007 at 10:38 pm 1 comment

Richard Wilbur

Listen (to Hoon read)

Mind in its purest play is like some bat
That beats about in caverns all alone,
Contriving by a kind of senseless wit
Not to conclude against a wall of stone.

It has no need to falter or explore;
Darkly it knows what obstacles are there,
And so may weave and flitter, dip and soar
In perfect courses through the blackest air.

And has this simile a like perfection?
The mind is like a bat. Precisely. Save
That in the very happiest of intellection
A graceful error may correct the cave.

Hoon writes,

If you’re a teacher, or someone looking for a poem to recommend to some young ‘un, or class, just learning to recite, this is certainly a good one to consider. Humorous, with its made-up word, intellection, it is self-referential, demonstrating in its own intellectual word play, the very moral it wants to convey, the joy of recreational thought. Its mocking, lecturing tone, gives the young reciter a firm idea of a pose to aim-for.

(Bat sounds courtesy of myBelfry.com.)



Entry filed under: Black Mamba, English, Hoon (innerlea.com), Richard Wilbur.

Calligraphy Rain

1 Comment Add your own

  • 1. Linda Sue Grimes  |  November 7, 2009 at 11:11 am

    The word “intellection” is not “made-up.”


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