A Mad Mix {music & poetry post}

Maybe madness

Maybe madness too has meaning here.
Maybe conscience, knotted like a cyst,
Knowing and being known by sun and air —
Maybe life unties and we exist.

Bring to mind the mindless spider, its care
For the pillared invisible, little crystal temple,
All air and otherness:

As if a form could thank its maker,
As if every line of light back to one source were drawn,
As if, deep in wilderness
A raftered hall rose around the risen guests,
All pains purged from their faces . . .

As it is on earth, Lord, not in heaven.
On earth, and in a house whose walls are song.
Even the birds, even the littlest, fearless.
O Lord, to live so long . . .

Forgive me this, forgive what I am saying.
Whisper it, less than whisper, like someone praying.

— Osip Mandelstam
(March 15, 1937)

Selected & translated by Christian Wiman in Stolen Air, 2012, HarperCollins

{chorus}
Maybe I’ll drive myself to madness

Spinning in circles, don’t have it figured out just yet
Maybe I’ll drive myself to madness
Spinning in circles, don’t have it figured out just yet…

{outro}
…How do I

Do I justify
Staying in between the lines
There’s just no good excuse

Lucius, 2016

Much Madness is divinest Sense—
To a discerning Eye—
Much Sense—the starkest Madness—
’Tis the Majority
In this, as all, prevail—
Assent—and you are sane—
Demur—you’re straightway dangerous—

And handled with a Chain—

—Emily Dickinson
(1863)

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