KHÔRA

                                              We had the same nightly ritual that we do now. I’d read to the girls and tuck them in before my wife took over, and the last thing I’d say every night was “I love you,” and they would always reply promptly, “I love you too, Daddy.” But one night after my declaration, Fiona was silent. She just kept staring at the ceiling. “Do you love me too, Fiona?” I asked, foolishly . A long moment passed.  “No, Daddy, I don’t.” “Oh Fiona sweetie, I bet you do.” I said Nothing.   “Well,” I said finally, “I love you, Finn, and I’ll see you in the morning.” And then as I started to get up, I felt her small hand on my arm and she said dreamily, without looking at me, like a little Lauren Bacall, “I will love you in the summertime, Daddy. I will love you … in the summertime.” [1 ] There is something in the conversation between the poet ...

El beso de la sabiduría Soy un filósofo errante, pobre en bienes, rico en anhelo, vagando en busca del fulgor de la sabiduría. Porque la sabiduría es el beso de los besos, un beso divino que guía mis pasos hacia la luz de un saber que transforma. Aplícate, aprovéchate de mi humilde pensamiento, pues la sabiduría no es saberlo todo, sino hallar el saber que cambia la vida. No tengo palabras perfectas para plasmar mi sentir, pero en mis versos dispersos he encendido un destello de la luz de mi pobre pensamiento. The Kiss of Wisdom I am a wandering philosopher, poor in possessions, rich in longing, roaming in search of the glow of wisdom. For wisdom is the kiss of all kisses, a divine kiss that guides my steps toward the light of a knowledge that transforms. Apply yourself, take advantage of my humble thought, for wisdom is not knowing everything, but finding the knowledge that changes life. I have no perfect words to express my feeling, but in my scattered verses, I have kindled a spark ...

  Joy’s trick is to supply Dry lips with what can cool and slake, Leaving them dumbstruck also with an ache Nothing can satisfy. - Richard Wilbur             There's a parable in the Gospels - the Parable of the Hidden Treasure - where a man stumbles upon a treasure buried in a field. Overcome with joy at his discovery, he goes and sells everything he owns in order to buy that very piece of land. It’s quite a striking parable, both as a depiction of the Kingdom of Heaven and as an illustration of that irresistible impulse that comes with finding something of immense worth. It speaks rather well to my recent, unwavering admiration for the British author Zadie Smith. I recall listening to a podcast featuring one of my favourite poets, Christian Wiman, where he made a profound observation about joy. He referenced a remark by Zadie Smith, who once noted that people often mistake joy for an intensified form of pleasure - a notion she found somewhat abs...