Thursday, August 02, 2007  Charles Simic  Hm. I guess I've just
never thought of Charles Simic as "a surrealist with a dark
view." There's a kind of hollow loneliness expressed in a lot of
his writing, I suppose, but his wintery dreamworld isn't a dark
place. It's exuberant and ultimately, irredeemably, optimistic.
Brought on a kind of ecstasy. I went as if pursued, trying to
warm myself.  There was the East River; there was the Hudson.
Their waters shone like oil in sanctuary lamps.  Something
supreme was occurring For which there will never be any words.
The sky was full of racing clouds and tall buildings, Whirling
and whirling silently.  In that whole city you could hear a pin
drop. Believe me.  From "The Initiate".