There is a center
From which I move
And see
Strange, esoteric it is.
I know me not
Nor you
But from here, my center,
I reach and yearn
And seek to know
And be.
Anything and everything
Is too much
Too pre ponderous
To comprehend
To analyze -
To synthesize
To totally realize.
All of you beyond my mirror
I know you not
Though I guess your you.
How could I know
When I, too,
Am mystery?
Welcome!
The poems in this beautifully bound book are a result of over twenty years of observations. Observations of the world around us and on the telecommunications network. All of the hate, love, heroism, disasters, and those who help.
Beautif
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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we reach out beyond to the unknown.
Every step we take is a trial,
a challenge,
until we walk steadily.
Every new knowledge is a mystery,
an excitement,
until it is learnt.
Every new acquaintance is a stranger,
a passerby,
until he/she becomes our friend.
Life is filled with mystery.
Sandie May Angel, October 28, 2004