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Ram & others, What was she thinking? Hacker, I mean...she picked the poem. Really bad on several counts: The laudress caressing the muslins is romanticism run amok. The second stanza is unforgivably blind to the way human civilization has worked over the natural world. "The trees must be washed..." & oceans pressed in neatness"--passages like those could roll Robinson Jeffers over in his grave. Then PK Page doesn't forget to work in some angelic imagery: a little easy ecstatic ersatz spiritual speech for good measure...I'm not certain I would have those Archangels "polishing the rods" of rain, either. Sounds somewhat masturbatory? And at the very end the image changes abruptly to the act of painting? Which is completely out of sync with the poem's prevailing imagery. One can only hope this poem vanishes quickly into the thin air at the top of the world. Finnegan > Planet Earth > > It has to be spread out, the skin of this planet, > has to be ironed, the sea in its whiteness; > and the hands keep on moving, > smoothing the holy surfaces. > > In Praise of Ironing Pablo Neruda > > It has to be loved the way a laundress loves her > linens, > the way she moves her hands caressing the fine muslins > knowing their warp and woof, > like a lover coaxing, or a mother praising. > It has to be loved as if it were embroidered > with flowers and birds and two joined hearts upon it. > It has to be stretched and stroked. > It has to be celebrated. > O this great beloved world and all the creatures in > it. > It has to be spread out, the skin of this planet. > > > The trees must be washed, and the grasses and mosses. > They have to be polished as if made of green brass. > The rivers and little streams with their hidden > cresses > and pale-coloured pebbles > and their fool's gold > must be washed and starched or shined into brightness, > the sheets of lake water > smoothed with the hand > and the foam of the oceans pressed into neatness. > It has to be ironed, the sea in its whiteness. > > and pleated and goffered, the flower-blue sea > the protean, wine-dark, grey, green, sea > with its metres of satin and bolts of brocade. > And sky - such an 0! overhead - night and day > must be burnished and rubbed > by hands that are loving > so the blue blazons forth > and the stars keep on shining > within and above > and the hands keep on moving. > > It has to be made bright, the skin of this planet > till it shines in the sun like gold leaf. > Archangels then will attend to its metals > and polish the rods of its rain. > Seraphim will stop singing hosannas > to shower it with blessings and blisses and praises > and, newly in love, > we must draw it and paint it > our pencils and brushes and loving caresses > smoothing the holy surfaces. > > -- P.K. (Patricia Kathleen) Page > > Note: indicates italics