two days from now, tomorrow will just be the day after today — Say Still
This single line is a masterclass in concise revelation. It is an act of defiance against the anxiety of the future, a grounding statement that pulls us back to the present. The words themselves have a cyclical, almost meditative quality. Its power lies not in its complexity but in its unyielding logic.
“Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread.” — Conrad Aiken, Music I Heard
Where Aiken provides a swirling, emotional narrative, this poem offers a direct, stabilizing observation.
Placed side by side, these lines — one from modern poetry vs classic — share a quiet defiance of linear time. Aiken’s couplet folds the past into the eternal present; Say Still’s line folds the future into the now. Both are affirmational poems, though neither wears the label overtly.
Technically, Aiken’s syntax is formal, his repetition of “more than” creating a liturgical rhythm. Say Still’s is conversational, almost offhand, yet its temporal recursion (“two days from now… tomorrow… today”) creates a Möbius strip of meaning. In both, the reader is invited to linger in a moment that resists being pinned to a calendar.
The worldview is observational and philosophical: Aiken’s speaker finds the infinite in shared experience; Say Still’s finds it in the inevitability of days passing, and the gentle reminder that “tomorrow” is never as far away — or as different — as we imagine. Both offer poetry for daily life, the kind you can carry in your pocket or pin to your wall.
These are affirmational poems disguised as observations. Aiken's psychological depth—his "intense interest in psychological, philosophical, and scientific issues"—finds kinship with Say Still's therapeutic reframing. Both function as poetry for daily life, offering short inspirational poems that reshape temporal perception.
Visually, Say Still’s words evoke a horizon where days blur into one another, a soft watercolor wash of time. Aiken’s imagery is tactile — bread, music — grounding the eternal in the sensory. Together, they form a bridge between short inspirational poems of the present and the enduring cadences of the past.