Quotes from William Bronk

Here it was always the lightthat mattered, and only the light. Once, it had seemedthe objects mattered: the light was to see them by.Examined, they yielded nothing, nothing real.They were for seeing the light in various ways.They gathered it, released it, held it in.In them, the light revealed itself, took shape.Objects are nothing. There is only the light, the light!

I lie along the body of this life,all night stilling my breath to listen to breath,feeling its weight heavy against my weight.

I want to tell my friends how beautiful / the world is. Not but what they know / it is terrible too--they know as well as I; / but nevertheless, I want to tell my friends. / Because they are. And this is what they are; / and because it is and this is what it is. / You are my friend. The world is beautiful. / Dear friend, you are. I want to tell you so.

A light, this side of the hills toward Argyle, / flowed like fog through the hollows, rose to the depth / of the hills, illumined me. I faded in it / as the world faded in me, dissolved in the light. / No one to know and nothing knowable. / Oh, we know that knowing is not our way; / but, the choice is ours, would make it our way, would leave / the world for the same world made knowable.

Reality is what we are ignorant of.

I want to be that Tantalus, unfed / forever, that my want's agony declare / that such as we want has nothing to say to the world; / if the world wants, it nothing wants for us. / Let me be unsatisfied.

Landscape is metaphor / and only metaphor. But, oh, I have loved it so.

Caress me, be kind. We have no history.

In cosmos and microcosmos scale can be/so great and be so small/neither can stay believable, each/cancels the other out and we, too big/for one an unapparent otherwise/live self-scaled lives where we are as if we were./Bring some words together toward a real.

A green world, a scene of green, deep / with light blues, the greens made deep / by those blues. One thinks how / in certain pictures, envied landscapes are seen / (through a window, maybe) far behind the serene / sitter's face, the serene pose, as though/in some impossible mirror, face to back, / human serenity gazed at a green world / which gazed at this face.

What we are watching now as though it were real is shadows thrown on the back of the screen by lights and puppeteers behind it whose they are we." - Whose They Are We