Let It Go

It is this deep blankness is the real thing strange.
The more things happen to you the more you can't
Tell or remember even what they were.

The contradictions cover such a range.
The talk would talk and go so far aslant.
You don't want madhouse and the whole thing there.

by William Empson

Other poems of WILLIAM EMPSON (8)

Comments (2)

Brilliant. Says nothing - and everything! Stewart Francis
A gnomic take on the nature of afflatus, flighty Memory, and the assault of the infinite on a finite world.