Aphorisms
Buy Issue for $25 at JHUP- Aphorisms
One man alone is too much for one man alone.
—Antonio Porchia1
Inspired by the Antonio Porchia quotation above, I have put aside aphorisms as varieties of "wit and word" games for a while to explore the question, "Can the writing of aphorisms be a profoundly serious activity of the inner life?" I hope to capture that "too-much-ness" of a man alone. We are all of us such intrinsically lovely, overwhelmed creatures.
It is too late too soon.Once I wasn't, but never again will I not have been.An ugly city is an ugly idea about man.A small boy prays to the God of small boys.There is only truth—what else could there be?The end of the poem is the oldest part of the poem.Even this pellet of mouse dung is a fated thing.Not even a handhold; a breathhold in this world is all.Here evokes infinite elsewheres. [End Page 463] I will die where I was born—in medias res.To have had a destiny—how I would have loved that!My secrets have secrets from me.I don't want what I need—I hate what I need.
Footnotes
1. Antonio Porchia, "Voices," trans. Gonzalo Melchor, unpublished manuscript, 2008.
