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 Â Was like the conscious being of the book. The house was quiet and the world was calm. Â The words were spoken as if there was no book, Except that the reader leaned above the page, Â Wanted to lean, wanted much to be The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom Â The summer night is like a perfection of thought. The house was quiet because it had to be. Â The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind: The access of perfection to the page. Â And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world, In which there is no other meaning, itself Â Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself Is the reader leaning late and reading there.