A Book of Music - Jack Spicer

Apr. 17th, 2014 05:01 pm
[syndicated profile] speculumannorum_feed

Coming at an end, the lovers
Are exhausted like two swimmers. Where
Did it end? There is no telling. No love is
Like an ocean with the dizzy procession of the waves’ boundaries
From which two can emerge exhausted, nor long goodbye
Like death.
Coming at an end. Rather, I would say, like a length
Of coiled rope
Which does not disguise in the final twists of its lengths
Its endings.
But, you will say, we loved
And some parts of us loved
And the rest of us will remain
Two persons. Yes,
Poetry ends like a rope.

The Owl, Edward Thomas

Apr. 17th, 2014 07:39 am
lnhammer: animation of the kanji for four seasonal birds fading into each other in endless cycle (birds)
[personal profile] lnhammer posting in [community profile] poetry
The Owl

Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;
Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof
Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest
Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.

Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,
Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.
All of the night was quite barred out except
An owl’s cry, a most melancholy cry

Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,
No merry note, nor cause of merriment,
But one telling me plain what I escaped
And others could not, that night, as in I went.

And salted was my food, and my repose,
Salted and sobered, too, by the bird’s voice
Speaking for all who lay under the stars,
Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.

Haikai Fest: "Reverse Time Capsule"

Apr. 17th, 2014 08:19 am
jjhunter: silhouetted woman by winding black road; blank ink tinted with green-blue background (silhouetted JJ by winding road)
[personal profile] jjhunter
Let's take a breath for poetry. It is April, and as good a time as any for a collaborative poetry fest. Please find below a starting stanza or two of a brand new shiny haikai (what's a haikai, you ask? think extended haiku: alternating stanzas of 5-7-5 and 7-7). Comment with a new stanza responding to the original theme. Someone (most likely me) will respond with another stanza, and so on and so forth throughout the day.

statistics, not calc.
skills, not grades; life, not college
things I wish I'd known


Apr. 17th, 2014 12:22 pm
liv: In English: My fandom is text obsessed / In Hebrew: These are the words (words)
[personal profile] liv
Term has ended, and I was able to wrangle things so I could take my marking to Cambridge and live at home for a week, leading up to the beginning of Passover this Monday.

diary stuff )

Thank you to everybody who was friendly and comforting this week, it really does mean a lot, and I'm feeling extremely blessed to know you all. I still have a lot of things I need to deal with, both workwise and in terms of selling my house here and hopefully buying another one in Cambridge. But basically I'll be ok, and at least I don't have all that on my to-do list plus Passover prep.

The Mower, by Philip Larkin

Apr. 17th, 2014 06:26 pm
ironed_orchid: sepia image of woman kissing a bird (underworld (by regyt))
[personal profile] ironed_orchid posting in [community profile] poetry
The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed. It had been in the long grass.

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world
Unmendably. Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.
liseuse: (wintery tree)
[personal profile] liseuse
Wistful sounds like a brand of air freshener
- Bob Hicok

I will go to Belfast, Maine, and read my poetry to crabs.
I’ll stand on a platform of some kind in the company of wind
and look at pennants waving and think of the claws
of crabs waving in the wind of the Atlantic and be sad.
It’s not that I don’t have enough sadness, but I’m always looking
for better, more aquatic or tastier sadness, for the kind
of light that comes when the sky tilts its head at dusk
and wonders, in colors we understand as language, why this all
has to end. I could doff a Bogart hat and wag a tough cigarette
between my lips, smoke muscling up from my mouth as I say, it just does,
sweetheart, it just does, but the psychology of the fedora
escapes me. There’s bread and calisthenics and lice and radar
and jars of blue stuff in stores, and maybe what I’m doing
when I cry to certain songs at seventy miles an hour, is proving
I’ve noticed that out of the nothing that could be here,
everything is. So I will go to Belfast, Maine, and wonder
what it’s like to stand beside Main Street in the winter,
I’ll put my head against the brick buildings I’m betting
live there year-round and describe the tropics to them
by having warm thoughts, and if you’d like to meet me there,
I’ll be the man in the t-shirt that has an extra sleeve
in case the third arm I need shows up, because so far,
I’ve dropped almost everything I’m desperate to hold.

swallowed by a whale

Apr. 17th, 2014 12:24 am
lotesse: (narnia)
[personal profile] lotesse
You know, there's a (damaged) part of me that really does believe in love virginity - except coming from the opposite angle of the sex-negative fundamentalist doctrine Libby Anne discusses at the above. Instead of fearing that I was in danger of losing the purity and intactness of my heart as a younger girl, I now find myself horribly convinced that, having oddly enough played by (most) of the old rules, having committed myself to forever with my first boyfriend & first sex partner but then having had that go all to hell, I've irretrivably lost the valuable commodity of a virgin heart. I no longer have one to offer. And without one I feel resourceless.

I know that's broken logic, but that's how it feels, right now, deep down inside. I am glad to have language for it, though, & will seek to do some patching. It's a way that I feel out of touch with my age cohort, because I keep finding emotional resonance in the words of older divorcees leaving long-term marriages that few of my friends have had the time to build as of yet.

I do wonder where I picked this stuff up in the first place.

fooled heart beating so fast

Apr. 16th, 2014 10:12 pm
lotesse: (narnia)
[personal profile] lotesse
I've spent several hours tonight reading Love, Joy, Feminism, by Libby Anne, a blog by a survivor of Christian Patriarchy, and I'm nowhere near through. I didn't expect to find personal connection when I opened a link to her so much as sociocultural analysis, but there are a number of interesting intersections between her experiences and mine: a child of a family-centered family with a lot of closeness and some major boundary issues, a former funny old-fashioned little girl who liked to sew patchwork and wear Laura Ingalls Wilder dresses (and also couldn't afford entrance to the worlds of mall fashion and pop music that my peers inhabited), someone who essentially "married" her very first boyfriend as a young teen. Not to mention my years of decidedly secular but also decidedly oddball homeschooling and the distrust for mainstream culture my parents raised me to. Opposite ideological bent, but same basic set of doctrines: question them, they're not to be trusted. The family way is Best.

There's a weird balance between liberalism and conservatism in being an outsider, I think; I couldn't have been brought up with more radical politics, and certainly in the eyes of Christian Patriarchalists I have been the worst of sinners, but in other ways I recognize the defensive snobbery of the girl-child who wants to believe that she's better than the other girls because she's industrious and family-oriented instead of crass or materialistic, and I'm not sure it mattered that much that my parents were anti-capitalist intellectuals instead of religious fundamentalists, not in the virtuous outsider social psychology of that sort of thing.

But it's awkward, because I still also do often think that the family ways I was raised to ARE Best, really & truly, and I want to be loyal to them.

Relatedly (?), I guess my Mormon childhood bff and intermittent crush object is also moving back up north. I have ... complex? ... feelings about this.

(no subject)

Apr. 16th, 2014 08:11 pm

100 college things 62

Apr. 16th, 2014 04:48 pm
alexseanchai: quill, ink bottle, and calligraphy (Default)
[personal profile] alexseanchai
Finally got an answer on whether I can take Spanish 111 given that I have credit for Spanish I. Yes I can. I just won't get credit, and the professor might tell me to switch to Spanish 112 depending on how much proficiency with the language I display in the early weeks of class. I will bomb Spanish 112 if I don't take Spanish 111 first, because I have barely used Spanish in years.

Also asked about Chinese. Only one Chinese course available online, which won't get me the second-year language proficiency my degree needs.

How hard to learn is German? What about Arabic or Hebrew? I could also French or Italian, or probably Russian, but dammit there are reasons I want Spanish or Mandarin.
[syndicated profile] speculumannorum_feed

When I think of the many people
who privately despise children,
I can’t say I’m completely shocked,

having been one. I was not
exceptional, uncomfortable as that is
to admit, and most children are not

exceptional. The particulars of
cruelty, sizes Large and X-Large,
memory gnawing it like

a fat dog, are ordinary: Mean Miss
Smigelsky from the sixth grade;
the orthodontist who

slapped you for crying out. Children
frighten us, other people’s and
our own. They reflect

the virused figures in which failure
began. We feel accosted by their
vulnerable natures. Each child turns

into a problematic ocean, a mirrored
body growing denser and more
difficult to navigate until

sunlight merely bounces
off the surface. They become impossible
to sound. Like us, but even weaker.

(no subject)

Apr. 16th, 2014 02:18 pm
liseuse: (Default)
[personal profile] liseuse
This week spring/summer has come to Lower Schmeh. I am not a fan. I have mostly been hibernating. So, if you've been wondering where my thrilling tweets about laundry, cats, and general ridiculousness have been, they have been hidden under the layer of gloom that the arrival of warm weather brings to me.

I have also been absorbed by the re-watch of ER that The Mother and I have started. We decided to do this aaaaaaages ago, and I put the first season on my Lovefilm list, and then got sent ninety things that were not ER. But! The first disc of the first season finally arrived (and it's double-sided which is not something I have ever encountered before) so we've been carving out pieces of time to sit down and watch it. The plan nearly hit a fatal problem when we decided to watch the pilot episode. WHICH IS AN HOUR AND A HALF LONG. It also means we've been playing excessive amounts of "what happened to that person?", a game which is much easier now that smartphones are a thing. Did you know that Eriq La Salle published a novel? No, nor did we.

What Are You Reading (Actually On A!) Wednesday:

• What are you currently reading?
• What did you recently finish reading?
• What do you think you’ll read next?

What are you currently reading?

War and Peace. Currently we're at war. Points of note: there's a big problem with boot supplies, money gets stolen, people make plans to assault nuns. I haven't actually read much of War and Peace because I've been very busy with the other book I'm currently reading. Which is,

Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, which is absolutely phenomenal. I have about fifty pages left and I am torn between wanting to read them Right Now and not wanting to read them at all because then the book will be finished and that will be sad.

What did you recently finish reading?

A Tale of Time City by Diana Wynne Jones. I don't have much to add to what I wrote last week about this. It is very strangely paced at times, the conclusion is less satisfying than it could be, and I do not care about any of that because I still love this book a phenomenal amount.

What do you think you’ll read next?

Well, there is a lot more of War and Peace left. Also I got Pandemonium: The Rite of Spring, which is a collection of short stories centred around 1913, the other day. And NetGalley just approved my request for Patience Agbabi's Telling Tales, which is a 21st century remix of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales.

Poem: "To Be (To Dream To Be)"

Apr. 16th, 2014 09:09 am
jjhunter: blank-eyed cat would like to convince you sitting in a box is the thing to do (cat in a box)
[personal profile] jjhunter
Originally posted as a comment reply to one of D's cat photos.

To Be (To Dream To Be)

every ear and whisker says
my body is ready

o birds, you do not know
the foe beyond
the air you cannot pass

the taut spacing of her midnight hair /betrays the singing of her legs )
jjhunter: Closeup of monarch butterfly (butterfly closeup)
[personal profile] jjhunter
Let's take a breath for poetry. It is April, and as good a time as any for a collaborative poetry fest. Please find below a starting stanza or two of a brand new shiny haikai (what's a haikai, you ask? think extended haiku: alternating stanzas of 5-7-5 and 7-7). Comment with a new stanza responding to the original theme. Someone (most likely me) will respond with another stanza, and so on and so forth throughout the day.

I don't fall in love
I leap — like faith, unknown if
loved one leaps for me
liseuse: (michelangelo2)
[personal profile] liseuse
Ye Who Enter In
(after Antonio Machado)
- Jamie McKendrick

To plumb the depths of hell and meet
ministers, saladins and scholars,
Marilyn Monroe and Cleopatra,
the latter naked as the day they died;
to give audience where you please
and where you don't to curl your lip
or deftly rabbit-punch a kidney
sure that your arm is power-assisted.
To be steered about by someone who just
happens to be Virgil, and you like his poems.
To write as a chisel writes on rock
so every phrase you write resounds forever:
ABANDON ALL HOPE ... You first.
No really I insist please after you.

(From 101 Sonnets: From Shakespeare to Heaney, edited by Don Paterson, Faber & Faber, 2002)

11 February 2004 / Buffalo

Apr. 16th, 2014 05:12 pm
tree: text: well, my days of not taking you seriously are certainly coming to a middle. ([firefly] coming to a middle)
[personal profile] tree
the poem 11 February 2004 Buffalo by Jessica Smith

Jessica Smith

(i apologise to anyone who uses a screen reader or has trouble reading text on images but i really couldn't see a way to format this so that it would make sense/be readable in a text format.)


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