the joy of language

In one of his poems, Wallace Stevens speaks of the

                                                              . . .sharp,

                    Free knowledges, secreted until then,

                    Breaches of that which held them fast.

He is speaking of "these men" he had earlier named as the "clairvoyant" ones who "need no proof: / The lover, the believer and the poet."  Since this poet was anything but a conventional "believer" of any kind, one should not misread his description as referring to some form of authorized piety.  Hardly.  Stevens describes how this unlikely trio behaved:  "Their words, chosen out of their desire, / The joy of language, when it is themselves."  Words chosen out of their desire:  this is as good a definition of a journey into a deep contentment--or at least one that refuses less demanding paths of inquiry--as I know.

To think of what kind of knowledge might "breach" that which holds us fast--to our expectations of ourselves or others, or to their expectations of us--is a worthy meditation to occupy our minds. 

It might even open us to imagine our way beyond thin conventions and tired assumptions about our lives and our world.  Turning our attention to a matter as this might help us cultivate a measure of courage to see the world anew.  Or, as the poet puts it, to "lose the old uses" which had left us un-seeing in this life of abundant wonder.  For wonder depends upon nothing more (and surely nothing less) than our capacity to see in the things all about us, and within us, something larger than our minor ambitions allow for.  Perhaps such a vulnerability might lead us to catch a glimpse of "the central poem" (Stevens) which does nothing to hold the world together but does hold us together amid the sherds and fragments of our lives.

Perhaps glimpsing this makes all the difference--at least for lovers, believers, and poets.