Core: noun, the most important part of a thing, the essence; from the Latin cor, meaning heart.

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 Volume 1.24 This View’s Poetry July 22, 2002 


    Back Yard    
         
   

Shine on, O moon of summer.
Shine to the leaves of grass, catalpa and oak,
All silver under your rain to-night.

An Italian boy is sending songs to you to-night from an accordion.
A Polish boy is out with his best girl; they marry next month; to-night they are throwing you kisses.

An old man next door is dreaming over a sheen that sits in a cherry tree in his back yard.

The clocks say I must go ó I stay here sitting on the back porch drinking white thoughts you rain down.

     Shine on, O moon,
Shake out more and more silver changes.

   
         
    Carl Sandburg (1878-1967)    
   

Chicago Poems (1916) # 97

   

    “A something in a summerís day”    
         
   

A something in a summerís day,
As slow her flambeaux burn away,
Which solemnizes me.

A something in a summerís noon, ó
An azure depth, a wordless tune,
Transcending ecstasy.

And still within a summerís night
A something so transporting bright,
I clap my hands to see;

Then veil my too inspecting face,
Lest such a subtle, shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me.

The wizard-fingers never rest,
The purple brook within the breast
Still chafes its narrow bed;

Still rears the East her amber flag,
Guides still the sun along the crag
His caravan of red,

Like flowers that heard the tale of dews,
But never deemed the dripping prize
Awaited their low brows;

Or bees, that thought the summerís name
Some rumor of delirium
No summer could for them;

Or Arctic creature, dimly stirred
By tropic hint, ó some travelled bird
Imported to the wood;

Or windís bright signal to the ear,
Making that homely and severe,
Contented, known, before

The heaven unexpected came,
To lives that thought their worshipping
A too presumptuous psalm.

   
         
    Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)    
   

Complete Poems (1924) Part Two: Nature LXIII
ed. Martha Dickinson Bianchi

   

    Idyll    
         
   

In the grey summer garden I shall find you
With day-break and the morning hills behind you.
There will be rain-wet roses; stir of wings;
And down the wood a thrush that wakes and sings.
Not from the past youíll come, but from that deep
Where beauty murmurs to the soul asleep:
And I shall know the sense of life re-born
From dreams into the mystery of morn
Where gloom and brightness meet. And standing there
Till that calm song is done, at last weíll share
The league-spread, quiring symphonies that are
Joy in the world, and peace, and dawnís one star.

   
         
    Siegfried Sassoon (1866-1967)    
    Picture Show (1920) # 23
   

    Triad    
         
    From the Silence of Time, Time’s Silence borrow.
In the heart of To-day is the word of To-morrow.
The Builders of Joy are the Children of Sorrow.
   
         
    William Sharp (1856-1902)    
    Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse p. 400    



 Volume 1.24 This View’s Poetry July 22, 2002 





The View from the Core, and all original material, © E. L. Core 2002. All rights reserved.

Cor ad cor loquitur J. H. Newman — “Heart speaks to heart”