An Itsy Bit about Minimalism

As you grow older, and you sense your time might come, you tend to shed unnecessary baggage.  You stop reading so much, and begin re-reading … slowly … thinking about it.  The inconsequential  you pare away, leaving the core.

Minimalism is wisdom in a compact carrying-case.   Thus may the  wise conveniently carry it about;  but for the learner, it must yet be unpacked.

Take, for example, Monostich XIV:  a poem which, we may state with some confidence, has been insufficiently appreciated,  for it appears in none of the anthologies, nor is it taught at the better universities.   In all probability, not more than two or three people on the planet have even read it:  yet Tennyson and Shakespeare, did they but read and understand, would nod in astonishment.   It consists, indeed, of but a single word:  yet what a word!   It is the most difficult word I know  -- truth to tell,  I  as yet  only half-know it.  A word we dare not quote here  bare:  View it in the context of the poem, where the brackets  part protect you  from its awesome power.  To learn the meaning of this word, you would need, not a lecture, not a semester, but a lifetime of study and contemplation (and perhaps of prayer).

Viewing this word in its proper poetic context, you will notice that, at first glance, it appears to be bracketed.   And yet not so:  The brackets point outwards, bracketing off all the rest of the world -- that busy marketplace of shopworn platitudes, of rumors, frauds, and greeds.  These you must needs ignore, to focus on just what is central, essential, and  after long learning   to be known.

So, note:

All this is written   ve-ry  ve-ry

            care-

                        ful-

                                    ly…       :

if you think  it is simple,  you have missed something.