I recently came across the following poem from a famous American poet named Wallace Stevens. There is something so simple and beautiful about this poem. It captures what happens when you get sucked into a great book and you feel your focus zoom in on it. In our world of multitasking and breakneck speeds, this is a welcome breath of fresh air. May you experience a “quiet house” moment sometime soon.
The House Was Quiet And The World Was CalmThe house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book; and summer night Was like the conscious being of the book. The house was quiet and the world was calm. The words were spoken as if there was no book, Except that the reader leaned above the page, Wanted to lean, wanted much to be The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom The summer night is like a perfection of thought. The house was quiet because it had to be. The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind: The access of perfection to the page. And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world, In which there is no other meaning, itself Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself Is the reader leaning late and reading there.