Nothing Imagined*

  • This is to note that because of a technical difficulty, the previous post which had this name was re-named The Edge of Immanence. That phrase was intentionally paradoxical, just as paradox is implicit in Rilke’s untitled poem, beginning ‘Durch den sich Vogel werfen’… ‘Birds launch themselves but not through space that’s shared’. Here is the poem.
The words of the poet are beautiful 
flowers by the side of the road, 
they have deepened the silence
were unguessed at:

where did they come from?

And if they weren't there 
would something else take their place?

No, nothing.

There'd be nothing imagined
and no gap where words needed to be.

The world's full of chance and necessity, 
heads or tails
heads and tails

and  nothing  imagined. 


Published by davidcookpoet

I am a husband, father and grandfather. I retired from a busy working life as an adult psychiatrist in 2014. My interests are in literature, philosophy, modern jazz and horse racing. I might represent those four fields by Shakespeare, Kant, Charlie Parker and Lester Piggott. Like nearly all of us, I can identify a number of formative experiences, one of which was a psychotic episode in my first year as a psychiatrist. This reinforced an already established interest in mystical experience, and a sense of how little human beings know. My intellectual bugbear is reductive materialism, and I am surprised at the lack of moral imagination of those who promulgate such views. It seems to me they need to consider ,perhaps by exposure, just why totalitarianism is so horrific.

One thought on “Nothing Imagined*

  1. . Thankyou for this and recent posts . They all have ,for me ,a wonderful , delicate ,sensibility .” Nothing Imagined ” for example, alongside others on the idea of God and transcendence , reminds me that conciousness is framed on the one side by its absence ,death ,and yet also ,possibly, gives, by its very nature , intimations of transcendence . CS Lewis puts it this way . “The Englishness of English is audible only to those who speak a different language as well. Perhaps in this way only the supernaturalist really sees nature . You must go a little away from her ,and then turn around ,and look back . Then , at last the true landscape will become visible “.Kazantzakis wrote similarly :” the flowers in the fields and the mountains stood in all their vivid reality before us ..A man stood looking at them, and thought of his own death . At that moment he was jolted out of this present reality ,and looked at the flowers as if already from the land of death. They now looked as if he was seeing them from th wrong end of a telescope ,far away, and very tiny ,like toys ,and hovering in the distance . They were beautiful as never before “. Perhaps the limit horizon of death , a dark hole that sucks in conciousness , provides a glimpse of the transcendent ,and illuminates life as a gift of pure Grace . In Walter de la Mare’s words ” Look thy last on all things lovely ,every hour ” . Life’s scarcity value is interpretated in a non theological way in Freud’s paper On Transcience , which apparently is written about Rilke ..

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