Lunch with my son at a favorite Sicilian trattoria where the pasta is so fine.
The owner says she’s weary, has no break. We understand and say so.
Smiling, she calls
Ciao! as we leave, happy that we are going, happy that we came.
Am steeped in Walt Whitman, meanwhile (in preparation for a seminar on translating him into Turkish…)
Nobody says it better, the life of Me/You, the life of Tu es cela:
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
and this, too, also from
Song of Myself:
I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end,
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.
There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.
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