over-freaking-whelmingly tired, stressed out, burned out. Need to relax, and have no idea how. Plus I lack the will to relax, honestly.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
Poetry Month
April is poetry month, so here is one of my favorite poems. This is from the under-recognized (yet widely studied) great Theodore Roethke:
Moss-Gathering (1944)
To loosen with all ten fingers held wide and limber
And lift up a patch, dark green, the kind for lining cemetery baskets,
Thick and cushiony, like an old-fashioned doormat,
The crumbling small hollow sticks on the underside mixed with roots,
And wintergreen berries and leaves still stuck to the top,-
That was moss-gathering.
But something always went out of me when I dug those loose carpets
Of green, or plunged my elbows in the spongy yellowish moss of the marshes:
And afterwards I always felt mean, jogging back over the logging road,
As if I had broken the natural order of things in that swampland;
Disturbed some rhythm, old and of vast importance,
By pulling off flesh from the living planet;
As if I had committed, against the whole scheme of life, a desecration.
Poetry Month: Roethke
April is poetry month (thanks, Melody!) so I thought I would post one of my favorite poems. I might post more later, but this is from the brilliant, under-recognized poet Theodore Roethke.
Moss-Gathering (1944)
To loosen with all ten fingers held wide and limber
And lift up a patch, dark green, the kind for lining cemetery baskets,
Thick and cushiony, like an old-fashioned doormat,
The crumbling small hollow sticks on the underside mixed with roots,
And wintergreen berries and leaves still stuck to the top,-
That was moss-gathering.
But something always went out of me when I dug those loose carpets
Of green, or plunged my elbows in the spongy yellowish moss of the marshes:
And afterwards I always felt mean, jogging back over the logging road,
As if I had broken the natural order of things in that swampland;
Disturbed some rhythm, old and of vast importance,
By pulling off flesh from the living planet;
As if I had committed, against the whole scheme of life, a desecration.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
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