The Lantern Bearers (Maxfield Parrish, 1908)

 

Poetry and Documentaries

 Last night we went to bed early and lay there each doing our thing. I found Good Poems on my Kindle and giggled at the biographies of the anthologized poets (he shot Marlowe just to watch him die). Then I found out that Wallace Stevens was an executive at an insurance firm and wrote poems during his commute. I had to read you The House was Quiet and the World was Calm. Then I had to read you To His Coy Mistress. Then you asked me about the Metaphysical Poets so I had to read you Valediction Forbidding Mourning. Then you showed me one of your favorite BBC nature documentaries about South America. It's the kind of evening that makes me grateful for every bit of my Boring Little Life (trademark pending). 

Love is Not All (Sonnet XXX)

Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 –1950)

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink

Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain; 

Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink 

And rise and sink and rise and sink again; 

Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath, 

Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone; 

Yet many a man is making friends with death 

Even as I speak, for lack of love alone. 

It well may be that in a difficult hour, 

Pinned down by pain and moaning for release, 

Or nagged by want past resolution’s power, 

I might be driven to sell your love for peace, 

Or trade the memory of this night for food. 

It well may be. I do not think I would. 

my new office hours

 

Zelda

 

Why I go to the gym

 Cycling home I thought of our talk that morning and all the (hopefully) imaginary and/or temporary problems that may (or may not) arise. Instead of anxiety, I suddenly realized that maybe instead of punishing you for all the mistakes others have made and all the stupid things they’ve done, I should give you some credit for never having let me down. It’s always a tug of war but when I’ve had a good work out, I feel like I might be winning. 

Above all else

 … you have to keep on moving.

41

This morning J and I discovered an activity that I find quite calming. We talk on the phone and pick a prime number and go up from there and try to find the next one. I don’t actually do any math in my head or anything - just agree or idly speculate whether the number is divisible by whatever. Mostly it’s soothing to hear his voice and him thinking out loud. It’s kind of like bed time stories - enough momentum to keep me interested but no threat of unpleasant surprises. Und wenn sie nicht gestorben sind, dann leben sie noch heute.

Here we go again

This morning was all foggy and wet. Julian said it's trying to accustom us to the weather in the UK for our trip in a few days. What a cheering thought. I spent the morning ticking off my to-do list. The recycling, the post office, the groceries, calling my gran - all the while keeping half an eye on my phone to see if you'd woken up, if you'd message, if you'd ring.

This is the part that always annoys me. The feeling of being tethered to something apart from myself. The space in my mind that's occupied by what you might be doing or thinking or feeling, when I know perfectly well that the best thing to do is to lay it aside and things will take care of themselves. Still, I can't help wanting to pull at the threads, looking for a sense of presence to fill this gap. 

Strangely our conversation didn't do it. Sometimes it's two puzzle pieces that don't quite come together, despite their mutual willingness, and I'm still at sea. In the absence of a better plan, I thought I'd just come up and quickly note it down (as a form of exorcism). 

And now, there's still ever so many things on the to-do list to get through, hopefully with my mind on the job at hand. 

everything changes but nothing does

I've left off the habit of writing here, but wanted to add this today for you.

 i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

                                                      i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

- e.e. cummings

Post Coitum Tristesse: A Sonnet

Why

do

you

sigh,

roar,

fall,

all

for

some

hum-

drum

come

-mm?

Hm....

- Brad Leithauser

Home is so sad

Home is so sad. It stays as it was left,

Shaped to the comfort of the last to go

As if to win them back. Instead, bereft

Of anyone to please, it withers so,

Having no heart to put aside the theft

And turn again to what it started as,

A joyous shot at how things ought to be,

Long fallen wide. You can see how it was:

Look at the pictures and the cutlery.

The music in the piano stool. That vase.

 - Philip Larkin (who else)

A Clear Midnight

This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless, 

Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best:
Night, sleep, and the stars.

- Walt Whitman

Lamentations 3:59

 O LORD, thou hast seen my wrong: judge thou my cause.

I came across this from Agatha Christie (After the Funeral, which incidentally is one which I recall reading and whose plot I remember quite well, while others have long since faded into obscurity). At first I thought this quote refers to our sins (i.e. things we have done wrong) but it turns out (other editions of the bible) that it refers to wrongs that have been done to you. 

Just wanted to jot this down because it's a. beautiful and b. intriguing. 

Beached as

Once in a while I feel very bummed. Usually it's hormones related. But knowing the cause mitigates the effect only a little bit (if at all). At times like this I feel very foreign here and wish I could go back to some place where I felt at home. Then I have to remind myself that every place makes me feel like an alien in some way - and the only way over something is (usually) through it. I've not made much of a habit of turning back and at the age of 37 I'm not sure I want to start. I would rather climb this mountain. So yeah, integration continues. I will try harder and if I ever get the point where I've done my utmost and I'm still not happy, I can reassess the situation then. 

Maybe part of it comes from not having been anywhere else for ever so long. 

And another thing that I remind myself of is the fact that the bad and the good comes together. I can't have the good without going through the bad, it seems. So the only thing I can do is try to get through with as much grace as I can muster. 

At times I like to come here and read about myself. It's soothing because it's a friendly voice that understands. It's also nice because I find (mostly) that I like myself. When I go back a long way I find (surprisingly) that many things about me are unchanged and at times I feel also that my instincts are good, and wish I had trusted them more. 

So I'll redouble my efforts to be me.