from Heidegger – poem

When the early morning light quietly

grows above the mountains . . . .

The world’s darkening never reaches

to the light of Being

We are too late for the Gods and too

early for Being. Being’s poem, just begun, is man.

To head toward a star – this only.

To think is to confine yourself to a

single thought that one day stands

still like a star in the world’s sky.

When the little windwheel outside

the cabin window sings in the

gathering thunderstorm . . . .

When thought’s courage stems from

the bidding of Being, then

destiny’s language thrives.

As soon as we have the thing before

our eyes, and in our hearts an ear

for the word, thinking prospers.

Few are experienced enough in the

difference between an object of

scholarship and a matter thought.

If in thinking there were already

adversaries and not mere

opponents, then thinking’s case

would be more auspicious.

When through a rent in the rain-clouded

sky a ray of the sun suddenly glides

over the glooms of the meadow . . . .



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