(Yes, it's only Wednesday when I post this, but it'll be up all through Thursday and beyond)
Perhaps it dulls the effect of the poem to admit this up front, but this is the loveliest descriptions of skeptical epistemology I've ever seen.
In Broken Images
Robert Graves (via)
He is quick, thinking in clear images;
I am slow, thinking in broken images.
He becomes dull, trusting to his clear images;
I become sharp, mistrusting my broken images.
Trusting his images, he assumes their relevance;
Mistrusting my images, I question their relevance.
Assuming their relevance, he assumes the fact;
Questioning their relevance, I question the fact.
When the fact fails him, he questions his senses;
When the fact fails me, I approve my senses.
He continues quick and dull in his clear images;
I continue slow and sharp in my broken images.
He in a new confusion of his understanding;
I in a new understanding of my confusion.
2 comments:
It sounds to me like an ode to fog.
All that is gray is not fog.
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