Summer 1994 • Vol. XVI No. 3 PoetryJuly 1, 1994 |

Geraniums

Seeing them late in the day in the still brilliant light as though enshrined, looking at them from my table across the room in a window box or outside the open door in pots, I could say that they remind me of so much, so much I couldn't say precisely what. They reveal then light's power to illuminate, to bring out subtleties not only in the colors, the beauty inherent in flowers, but in the fuller picture, the narrow field, fruit trees, the ivy-covered walls beyond them. Such the moments they bring to mind when the thing looked upon displays its mostly unobserved completeness, appearing suddenly more than connected with, related to, bonded with everything around it, mysteriously made one, made perfect by the great light, great distances of sky, or of sea behind it. A boat half in the sand, one oar in the water, a slight wind, slight rustling of waves, a causeway with benches jutting out into the bay, a fisherman seated along the edge, his pole bent like the shape of a harp. And

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In Conclusion

By Arthur Gregor

Seeing them late in the day in the still brilliant light as though enshrined, looking at them from my table across the room in a window box or outside the […]

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