Although the word “vision” derives from the Latin visionem, it first appeared in English with the definition of things seen in the mind or via the supernatural. Vision as simply the sense of sight is a later meaning (late 15th c.), and vision referring to foresight dates only to 100 years ago [see https://www.etymonline.com/word/vision#etymonline_v_7835]. The cliché “a vision of loveliness” provides an example of the early, 13th century meaning, as does the phrase “visions of sugarplums.” Poets have long been known for writing about, or being under the influence of, such vision.
When the first flush of poetic vision inspires work that later needs some adjustment, writers turn to revision. According to Etymology Online, revision’s history in English first showed up as a noun in the 1610s: “act of looking over again, re-examination and correction,” from French révision, from Late Latin revisionem (nominative revisio) “a seeing again” … the meaning “that which is revised, a product of revision” is from 1845.” This noun, and its verb form (the act/work/verb-sense of revising), keep me occupied a good bit of the time, especially lately while I’m trying to catch up with a large backlog–20 years of poetry drafts.
And then there’s this: https://www.hopkinsmedicine.org/health/conditions-and-diseases/cataracts#vm_A_20f6f6e1… blurred vision, leading to eye strain, drier eyes, halos around lights at night, trouble reading street signs. Yes, time to get a cataract evaluation, suggests my optometrist. “It’s our legacy,” my brother says, because our dad and most of his siblings got cataracts before age 70; Dad was only 48.
Efforts to correct cataracts apparently date as far back as 600 BCE in India, reports the American Academy of Ophthalmology, but the “father of modern cataract extraction surgery” was Jacques Daviel in 1747; since then, the surgery’s come a long way. I’m not worried about having it done and actually rather eager to see better and not need glasses all the time, though it could be over a year before that happens. In the meantime, the symptoms are irritating but not too significant. I can read books (and drafts of poems) just fine. I just might want to avoid driving in the dark, rainy nights of midwinter.
Anticipating removal of the thickening, cloudy lens that blurs my visual outlook offers a metaphor for the revision process in my writing. Observation, reflection, critical analysis, problem-solving, intervention, re-envisioning, repair. And perhaps: clarity, if I’m lucky.