Post by ronprice on Aug 10, 2005 10:11:38 GMT -5
A LABYRINTH 
It is the function of art by its intensity to penetrate these incongruities, to perceive some aspect of order in the chaos of living..and so to distil experience that we are made partakers of its essence...and to renew ourselves.(1) After a certain point in the evening, usually around midnight, I get to such a point of emotional and intellectual exhaustion that I begin to contemplate this renewal in death. By the morning this feeling is gone and, if I go to bed early enough, the feeling does not arise.(2) -(1) Charles Morgan, Liberties of the Mind, 1951.
-(2) Ron Price, Pioneering Over Three Epochs, Journal Section, Unpublished Manuscript, 20/9/95, 12:15 am. 
Death is not something to fear. Here one can find the home of oneness, the place of a myriad mystic tongues and the mysteries concealed in melodies. It is clearly that messenger of joy. -Ron Price, Pioneering Over Three Epochs, Journal Section, Unpublished Manuscipt.
I do not put into my poetry what people want
but what I must say, as well as I can,
to please myself, following my own aspirations,
but after finishing I am not indifferent
to public estimation; I respect the public
in all its ignorance, its commonality,
its finer and inner needs, its crude
and basic springs of laughter.
As I go about my labyrinth
I know the public has the clue
to my obligation to men
and to the humankind in me.
This labyrinth, like an alert mental energy,
an electricity, is given to me, a mood,
a residue, a balanced remainder,
of an acute manic-depression
and it absorbs my being
to the exclusion of all else.
Imposing itself on me like a vision
with force and intensity,
it finds imagination and inspiration.
Mysteriously, a will is produced, meteoric,
and I go to bed gently singed and
seeking the sweet and silent arms of death.
Ron Price
19 September 1995
A LABYRINTH
It is the function of art by its intensity to penetrate these incongruities, to perceive some aspect of order in the chaos of living..and so to distil experience that we are made partakers of its essence...and to renew ourselves.(1) After a certain point in the evening, usually around midnight, I get to such a point of emotional and intellectual exhaustion that I begin to contemplate this renewal in death. By the morning this feeling is gone and, if I go to bed early enough, the feeling does not arise.(2)
-(1) Charles Morgan, , Liberties of the Mind, 1951.
-(2) Ron Price, Pioneering Over Three Epochs, Journal Section, Unpublished Manuscript, 20/9/95, 12:15 am.
Death is not something to fear. Here one can find the home of oneness, the place of a myriad mystic tongues and the mysteries concealed in melodies. It is clearly that messenger of joy. -Ron Price, Pioneering Over Three Epochs, Journal Section, Unpublished Manuscipt.
I do not put into my poetry what people want
but what I must say, as well as I can,
to please myself, following my own aspirations,
but after finishing I am not indifferent
to public estimation; I respect the public
in all its ignorance, its commonality,
its finer and inner needs, its crude
and basic springs of laughter.
As I go about my labyrinth
I know the public has the clue
to my obligation to men
and to the humankind in me.
This labyrinth, like an alert mental energy,
an electricity, is given to me, a mood,
a residue, a balanced remainder,
of an acute manic-depression
and it absorbs my being
to the exclusion of all else.
Imposing itself on me like a vision
with force and intensity,
it finds imagination and inspiration.
Mysteriously, a will is produced, meteoric,
and I go to bed gently singed and
seeking the sweet and silent arms of death.
Ron Price
19 September 1995
It is the function of art by its intensity to penetrate these incongruities, to perceive some aspect of order in the chaos of living..and so to distil experience that we are made partakers of its essence...and to renew ourselves.(1) After a certain point in the evening, usually around midnight, I get to such a point of emotional and intellectual exhaustion that I begin to contemplate this renewal in death. By the morning this feeling is gone and, if I go to bed early enough, the feeling does not arise.(2) -(1) Charles Morgan, Liberties of the Mind, 1951.
-(2) Ron Price, Pioneering Over Three Epochs, Journal Section, Unpublished Manuscript, 20/9/95, 12:15 am. Death is not something to fear. Here one can find the home of oneness, the place of a myriad mystic tongues and the mysteries concealed in melodies. It is clearly that messenger of joy. -Ron Price, Pioneering Over Three Epochs, Journal Section, Unpublished Manuscipt.
I do not put into my poetry what people want
but what I must say, as well as I can,
to please myself, following my own aspirations,
but after finishing I am not indifferent
to public estimation; I respect the public
in all its ignorance, its commonality,
its finer and inner needs, its crude
and basic springs of laughter.
As I go about my labyrinth
I know the public has the clue
to my obligation to men
and to the humankind in me.
This labyrinth, like an alert mental energy,
an electricity, is given to me, a mood,
a residue, a balanced remainder,
of an acute manic-depression
and it absorbs my being
to the exclusion of all else.
Imposing itself on me like a vision
with force and intensity,
it finds imagination and inspiration.
Mysteriously, a will is produced, meteoric,
and I go to bed gently singed and
seeking the sweet and silent arms of death.
Ron Price
19 September 1995
A LABYRINTH
It is the function of art by its intensity to penetrate these incongruities, to perceive some aspect of order in the chaos of living..and so to distil experience that we are made partakers of its essence...and to renew ourselves.(1) After a certain point in the evening, usually around midnight, I get to such a point of emotional and intellectual exhaustion that I begin to contemplate this renewal in death. By the morning this feeling is gone and, if I go to bed early enough, the feeling does not arise.(2)
-(1) Charles Morgan, , Liberties of the Mind, 1951.
-(2) Ron Price, Pioneering Over Three Epochs, Journal Section, Unpublished Manuscript, 20/9/95, 12:15 am.
Death is not something to fear. Here one can find the home of oneness, the place of a myriad mystic tongues and the mysteries concealed in melodies. It is clearly that messenger of joy. -Ron Price, Pioneering Over Three Epochs, Journal Section, Unpublished Manuscipt.
I do not put into my poetry what people want
but what I must say, as well as I can,
to please myself, following my own aspirations,
but after finishing I am not indifferent
to public estimation; I respect the public
in all its ignorance, its commonality,
its finer and inner needs, its crude
and basic springs of laughter.
As I go about my labyrinth
I know the public has the clue
to my obligation to men
and to the humankind in me.
This labyrinth, like an alert mental energy,
an electricity, is given to me, a mood,
a residue, a balanced remainder,
of an acute manic-depression
and it absorbs my being
to the exclusion of all else.
Imposing itself on me like a vision
with force and intensity,
it finds imagination and inspiration.
Mysteriously, a will is produced, meteoric,
and I go to bed gently singed and
seeking the sweet and silent arms of death.
Ron Price
19 September 1995
