8.7.17, Redhills near Penrith - rugged windswept sheep is waiting for the right ram -or ewe, she’s not picky - to whisk her off her hooves. She’s a bit stand-offish but has a lot of love to give!
There’s a race of men that don’t fit in,
A race that can’t stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain’s crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don’t know how to rest.
If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they’re always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: “Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!”
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.
And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It’s the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that’s dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.
He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life’s been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He’s a rolling stone, and it’s bred in the bone;
He’s a man who won’t fit in.
Something was coming
to hold me in its mouth, and I
had got what I deserved. I never stopped leaving
saucers of milk on my doorstep. I lost
every game of hide-and-seek. I ran and
the scent of decades brushed my back. My back was not
unthreatening, having carried an entire diaspora
and Saturday’s groceries. In the woods
I lived in the space between
a face and a fist. In the house I left
a cheap chest of drawers, three
safety pins, and a fingernail clipping fallen
behind the vanity. In the kitchen
I saved a plate for what followed.
(Meanjin Winter 2017)
29.7.17- Cite your sources! When @k_loulee and I were preparing to split up our household we joked about me taking all her annotations to my cookbooks with me, like Harry inheriting the half-blood prince’s potions tips. I still sort of expect to find a hidden ‘sectumsempra’, but this reminder about sourcing your food history claims is more her style. #weekendreading #cookbook #citationneeded http://ift.tt/2w8zr0c