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Location: Austin, TX, United States

Scholar, Writer, Mother, Dreamer. Editor of Luminarium, an online library for English Literature of the Middle Ages and Renaissance.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

Much Ado

I got a callback, whew. Next Wednesday, Dec. 20, 7pm. Fingers and toes still crossed.

Still working on the Margaret Atwood site. Have spent the day in the company of her poems. This woman can WRITE!

 
Bored

All those times I was bored
out of my mind. Holding the log
while he sawed it. Holding
the string while he measured, boards,
distances between things, or pounded
stakes into the ground for rows and rows
of lettuces and beets, which I then (bored)
weeded. Or sat in the back
of the car, or sat still in boats,
sat, sat, while at the prow, stern, wheel
he drove, steered, paddled. It
wasn't even boredom, it was looking,
looking hard and up close at the small
details. Myopia. The worn gunwales,
the intricate twill of the seat
cover. The acid crumbs of loam, the granular
pink rock, its igneous veins, the sea-fans
of dry moss, the blackish and then the graying
bristles on the back of his neck.
Sometimes he would whistle, sometimes
I would. The boring rhythm of doing
things over and over, carrying
the wood, drying
the dishes. Such minutiae. It's what
the animals spend most of their time at,
ferrying the sand, grain by grain, from their tunnels,
shuffling the leaves in their burrows. He pointed
such things out, and I would look
at the whorled texture of his square finger, earth under
the nail. Why do I remember it as sunnier
all the time then, although it more often
rained, and more birdsong?
I could hardly wait to get
the hell out of there to
anywhere else. Perhaps though
boredom is happier. It is for dogs or
groundhogs. Now I wouldn't be bored.
Now I would know too much.
Now I would know.

Margaret Atwood



This poem raises in me the same kind of feelings as "Winter" by Tori Amos:
 
Winter

Snow can wait
I forgot my mittens
Wipe my nose, get my new boots on
I get a little warm in my heart
When I think of winter
I put my hand in my father's glove
I run off
Where the drifts get deeper
Sleeping Beauty trips me with a frown
I hear a voice:
"You must learn to stand up
For yourself
'Cause I can't always be around"

He says when you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
'Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change, my dear

Boys get discovered
As winter melts
Flowers competing for the sun
Years go by
And I'm here still waiting
Withering where some snowman was
Mirror, mirror
Where's the Crystal Palace
But I only can see myself
Skating around the truth who I am
But I know, Dad, the ice is getting thin

When you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
'Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change, my dear

Hair is grey
And the fires are burning
So many dreams on the shelf
You say I wanted you to be proud of me
I always wanted that myself

When you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
'Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses have gone ahead
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change, my dear
Never change
All the white horses
Have gone....

Tori Amos



Click here to listen to "Winter"
 

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1 Comments:

Blogger madelineanne said...

YAY CALLBACK!!!
That's tomorrow! So I will be sending you much much good vibes!
ANd I loooove "Winter" by Tori. Sooooo lovely lovely!
I need to figure out the travel for this weekend with you, but I'm stuck working at Phantom tonight. Bleargh!

December 19, 2006 10:25 AM  

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